Contracted Love
by DoYouCare.Why
Summary: "Day after day, she was there, and so was he. Never together, they occupied the same space every night, one oblivious and one painfully aware of his actions." A unique Veela fic in the works. Rated M for sexual scenes. Dramione!
1. Prologue: A Teaser

A/N: Hey, y'all! (I cannot believe I just wrote y'all). I have a lot of ideas for this story, but I don't know if it's interesting at all. Here's the basis: Draco is a Veela, flat out. He doesn't know it, but will soon, never fear! Hermione is, of course, his mate. Now, that's happened in a multitude of stories, but I'm hoping mine will be somewhat original. No instant love! Hermione isn't going to make this easier. It'll probably go on a day-to-day format, so I posted the first two days, about two thousand or so words, for you to see if you like it. If I should continue: review! If I shouldn't: review anyway and tell me why it sucks! I need a beta, someone who is willing to motivate me to write (if I shall continue) and to discuss characters and their development and actions.

Thanks!

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><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**3:31 AM**

Day after day, she was there, and so was he. Never together, they occupied the same space every night, one oblivious and one painfully aware of his actions. He didn't know why he came back without pause, but he knew all too well that he couldn't resist the urge to gaze at her.

She was beautiful, he thought, though he'd never seen her body awash with the light of day. No, he only glimpsed her in half-dark, the silhouette of her figure outlined by stark moonlight – that is, if he was lucky. More often than not, he settled for watching her look at the few stars that battled their way through the London smog as if they held the answers of the universe, her beauty hidden by a complex overlay of shadows and darkness. During those times, his imagination would roam, but his dreams always held the tint of unreality – how he wished to gaze at her in full light. He didn't know her hair color, her eye color, her height, or her build; he only saw the bent outline as she rested her head in her palm.

He knew it was wrong to watch her, wrong to follow her into the darkened park each night. It was pedophilic and disgusting behavior, especially for someone of his standing. But, he couldn't resist. It was hard to explain, but there was a tangible draw between them, a longing he couldn't deny, as million of steel ropes connected him to her. He would've thought he was cursed, but hundreds of Healers had examined him and proclaimed him safe. He could only assume his obsession was the work of a master wizard. After all, one must be supremely powerful to tie his mind constantly to an obscure, mysterious Muggle woman.

Still, like clockwork, he found himself walking into the park at exactly midnight each night. He often toyed with the idea of going closer, but he always shot that down. Any sane woman would be frightened by a strange man approaching them in the middle of the night at midnight, especially as he never bothered to groom himself before setting out.

He both loved and hated this routine that had consumed his life for nearly a year, ever since his twenty-second birthday. When he was around her, he felt, as clichéd as it sounded, complete. The millions of worries and stress that occupied the architect's mind was wiped away when he saw her perfection. As a young man, name sullied by the war, it had been difficult to find work, so he had resorted to starting his own company. Now, _Sleeping Dragon_ was an international hit – but he was barely managing to stay sane, so tense and distracted as he was during the day. The only way to calm his troubled mind was to watch her, but that cut back on precious sleep hours. It was a vicious cycle, but attempts to break it were futile; missing his ritual only equaled a completely unproductive next day, as well as intensified feeling. Lately, he'd even noticed emotions that weren't his occupying his body. He could only assume they came from her.

In front of him, perched on a cool metal bench, the mysterious woman sighed, barely audibly but his ears still caught it, and stood up. The thought of staying in the trees, if only to see her face, crossed his mind but he shot it down. It was too dangerous. How was he to explain to a Muggle why he was lurking in the trees at nearly one o'clock?

Draco Malfoy sighed and turned, making his way out of the small park. It was hopeless and a waste of time, but he couldn't help but shoot a glance behind him as he exited. The woman was nowhere to be seen which, he supposed, was a good thing. The pull had been getting worse lately, and he wasn't sure if he could contain himself any longer.

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><p><strong>Tuesday<strong>

**7:15**

Draco stumbled into his office the next morning, glad he'd thought to install a private Floo directly in the small room. He felt like shit, and wasn't up to walking though the lobby and letting everyone see him like that.

He passed a hand over his face, before withdrawing his wand. Though it took considerable effort to maintain a glamour, he figured he could hold it up for as long as it took to greet everyone before retiring to his office. He only had paperwork to do that day, thankfully, so he wouldn't have to keep it on all day. Yesterday he'd had to work with his architecture team to help design the French Ministry building, but today he was confident he had no socializing to do.

Just as he was casting the glamour, a brisk knock came from the door. He straightened, checked himself in a small mirror that was concealed on the inside of one drawer, slid the mirror/drawer closed and said, voice dry, "Come in."

A very pretty brunette woman walked in. Her hair was up in a tight bun and she was the very epitome of professionalism; only he knew how passionate and fun she could be. She was his assistant, and also happened to be his best friend. She'd wormed her way into his heart (though he hated clichés with a burning passion – though that expression was quite overused as well – he had to admit it applied) during sixth year while he'd been abandoned and betrayed by all he thought liked him. He remembered once incident after his first official Death Eater meeting, when he'd been forced to torture him and he was throwing up in the bathroom, recalling the horrible feeling as he leveled his wand on a defenseless Muggle, hearing the Dark Lord's laughter in his ears and the Muggle's shrieks and screams. She'd come up behind him and silently wrapped him in his arms, holding him even as he flinched and tried to hex her.

"Shush," she'd whispered in his ear, her hot breath tickling his neck. "Don't struggle. I've got you."

"Go away." A sharp protest, cutting through the still air.

"I'm not leaving you, Draco, especially not now."

A long pause, a drawn-out silence, "Why?"

"Because everyone needs someone to care for them; everyone needs someone who fights for them."

A quick reply, whispered into the air: "Who's fighting for you, then?"

A shy smile, hesitant words, "I was rather hoping you would."

Draco felt himself hide a smile, as he had so many years before. He instead returned to the matter at hand, banishing melancholy thoughts of his rubbish childhood to the back of his brain. Now was not the time to dwell in useless thoughts of the past. "Many meetings today, Daphne?"

Daphne Greengrass grimaced, sinking into the chair in front of his desk. She anxiously straightened her skirt, shooting at the glance at the open office door. "I swear you do this to torture me, Draco."

He cut his eyes at her, silently scolding her for being so informal in front of his employees. This was a useless reprimand, as the select people who were chosen to work at Sleeping Dragon Architecture Firm knew perfectly well of the friendship that existed between the two. She'd helped him get his company up and running, and had accompanied him at all his interviews for prospective employees. Many had gossiped about the possibility of a romantic relationship between the pair. However, a few stern talks from Draco had banished at least the talk, if not the thoughts. He would never entertain the thought of a relationship between him and Daphne, and he knew neither would she.

"That is, as you know, a complete falsehood," he replied, sinking back in his comfortable leather chair. Ahh, he was tired. Perhaps he should leave the paperwork and take a day off – as if. That thought was ludicrous; he never took time off. "You may always quit. I can find another to replace you in a second."

"That's a lie," a passing man called out. Draco looked up glaring at the offender, only to see the grinning face of Theodore Nott, his other friend, staring at him from outside. "You'd sooner shave your head than fire Daph. And, if you did, it'd take you bloody ages to replace her."

Snickers accompanied this from the offices that lined the hallway outside, and Draco gave Theo his best glare. "Please stop fueling rumors, Nott – though, I'm sure my employees know how much gossip displeases me, and what I'm prone to do when people displease me."

Theo was unfazed by his friend's loosely veiled threat, but Draco was satisfied as the whispers stopped. His fifteen high-level staff members knew how lucky they were to work for him and didn't want to do anything to jeopardize their position. (There were a handful of those who did mindless jobs, like sending memos and filling up coffee. But they were displaceable and Draco didn't bother to learn their names). "What, fire the lot of them?"

"Perhaps, Nott. Now, why have you decided to sully my office with your presence?"

Daphne giggled. "Stop it, Draco. Theo has a legitimate reason, doesn't he?"

"Yes, pray tell, Theo," Draco said drily, massaging his temples. He was exhausted, and his friends' banter was too much for him.

"I stopped by with a message from…somebody you haven't seen in a very long time," Theo said, suddenly serious. He glanced outside at what was undoubtedly fifteen eavesdropping workers and mouthed, "Mother."

Mother? Theo's mother was dead, murdered by her husband for refusing to take the Dark Mark. How could she be contacting Theo? Draco raised an eyebrow, and Theo bit his lip. He took a pad of brightly colored paper squares out of his jacket pocket and a quill-like object without the feathers that he clicked and scribbled with. He tore off the paper, setting it on Draco's desk after crossing the room in two long strides.

Draco took the orange square with disgust, noting how it resisted being pulled up. He ran a finger over his desk where it had laid, frowning as something sticky got on his clean hands. "What in Merlin's name is this?" he questioned, turning his attention to the message. "And that object you used to write—" his voice trailed off, eyes widening as he read the four words on the note.

"A Post-It Note, Draco, they're quite useful," Daphne said hurriedly, giving Theo a pointed look. The two began to banter once more, but he hardly heard them. He stared at the paper, heart pounding audibly in his chest.

I must control myself! Draco thought to himself sternly. He crumpled the note in his palm, trying desperately to re-erect his shields. He was failing miserably; a look at his friends confirmed that. Just as he was about to declare it a lost cause and go home, he felt...something.

He felt calm.

It was strange, as he was the furthest from calm. He stared suspiciously at Theo, noting how his hand was on his wand. A calming charm, then? He could take care of his bloody self!

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><p><strong>Short, I know, but it IS a teaser, after all. What do you think? Awful?<strong>


	2. Chapter 1: Veela, Veela

**A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for my two reviewers, honestly, you guys rock. Here's another, oh, 5,500? words for you. Short, I know, but I can't give away all of my pre-written work, now can I? This is, unfortunately, unbetaed, but I'm open to grammatical suggestions and the like. Actually, any suggestions will be considered greatly. Tell me if Draco is too out of character...I was hesitant about introducing the knowledge of Veelas so early in the story, but I want to focus on their reactions, not the mystery.**

**Thank you!**

(5597 words)

**Wednesday**

**12:00 PM**

_Lunch at Gino's Deli_

Draco leaned back in his dark wooden chair, resisting the urge to put his feet up on the circular lunch table like a villain. A picture of the Malfoy Heir behaving badly in public would not do, especially as Draco was sure the excited lady at the table to his left was taking pictures with her phone.

Yes, he knew what a phone was. He wasn't clueless. He paid some witless Muggleborn to educate him about the Muggle world the second the war ended with Pothead coming out on top. He preferred not to use Muggle things, just because the majority of his business contacts disapproved.

Sighing to himself, Draco took a sip of water, the ice clinking as he set the glass down on the table. Daphne and Theo were to meet him at Gino's in five minutes, and he needed to get his head on straight. Ever since Theo's message, he'd been distracted with thoughts of a woman he hadn't seen in five years: his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy, torn up about her husband's (Draco refused to call Lucius his father) arrest and subsequent madness at the hands of vengeful dementors, had fled the country with its endless gossip, jeering, hissing and spitting, leaving her seventeen-year old son alone in England. She'd gone to Italy, where her mother's family originated. Both her and her son had always felt at home in the beautiful country; it was no surprise Narcissa had hid there after the horrors of the war.

Draco picked up his napkin, curling it in his fist even as he smiled pleasantly for the cameras. He hadn't seen or heard from her since, and he had no desire to meet his mother anytime soon. Why should he? It wasn't like she _cared_ for him. This was made evident by her abandonment.

Inhaling deeply, Draco smoothed his napkin over his lap. He was dressed smartly, in a silver-blue button down silk shirt that Daphne had picked out for him, as well as a nice jacket and trousers. The press hadn't yet picked up on his mother's return, and he wasn't about to fuel rumors with pictures appearing of him looking less than perfect.

_You don't need her_, he reminded herself, lips curving up as he thought of his success. _What did you do when she __left__? Did you sulk? No. You rose to the top._

It was true. Though _Sleeping Dragon_ had begun in a seedy office building, with Draco furiously managing everything and trying to get business contacts, it had taken merely five years for the name to become internationally known – known, that is, for something besides his involvement in the war. He was sure his mother had heard of his success. _Take that,_ he thought, this time the smirk real. _I did it alone. Well, with Daph and Theo._

Since the end of the war, the public smearing of the Malfoy name had mostly stopped. Draco Malfoy was a respected name, and most regarded his efforts to distance himself from his father with a smidgen of courtesy. Most.

"What has you so serious, Draco?" A voice interrupted his reverie.

Draco blinked, letting the front legs of his chair touch the sun-warmed floor. "Daphne. When did you get here?"

"Minutes ago," the brunette answered, taking a seat. She observed him, taking in the carefully mussed hair and shirt. "Nice outfit."

"I could say the same for you," he replied truthfully. She was dressed in a nice green dress that, Draco noticed, was a similar shade to her eyes. Noticing his look, she blushed faintly, and Draco continued before any reporters could speculate as to why (he filed her reaction away for later contemplation). "Where's Theo?"

"No 'how-do-you-do' or 'hello,' Draco?" Daphne said, sipping her own water and leaving the slightest imprint of lipstick on the rim. "He's held up. He'll be here shortly. How are you?"

"Hello, how do you do, Daphne?" Draco said, avoiding the question.

She rolled her eyes. "Fantastic."

"Wonderful." Draco took another sip of his water, slipping his hand under the table. He flicked his wrist and his wand fell out of its holder and into his hand. With a muttered spell, he ensured that any eavesdroppers would be thwarted. "Is what Theo said true?"

"Did you…"

"Yes, it has been cast," he said, smirking. "Such faith you have in me. Now, answer the question."

Daphne sighed in irritation at his words. "Yes, it's true. Your mother has returned."

"Bloody wonderful," he groaned, dropping the spell as a waiter approached. Glancing at his menu, he ordered a chicken-pesto panini sandwich while his companion ordered a salad. As the waiter bowed and walked away, he reinstated the spell. "How do you know?"

"She sent you an owl," Daph said. At his quizzical look, she elaborated: "She sent it to your house, but your wards didn't let the owl in. It flew to Theo instead, who received the letter."

He frowned. Owls weren't supposed to have two recipients. Thankfully, the letter hadn't reached him. Merlin knows how he would have reacted. "Do you have the letter?"

"Theo is bringing it." Daphne regarded him carefully. He saw how her eyes lingered on the concealed sleep circles, as if she could see through the spell. "Draco, it had something about your…condition."

"What condition?" He played the obtuse fool.

Sharply, "Your addiction."

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. He'd only told Daphne and Theo about his strange pull to the woman. How did his mother find out about his addiction to a _Muggle_ woman? "Who told, Daphne?

"We don't know, I assure you," she hurried to say. "I'll discuss it with you when Theo arrives—look, there he is now."

He turned in his seat to spot the once-nerdy boy navigating his way through the tables. Minutes later, Theo had joined the two and Draco had expanded the spell to fit his friend as well. "Hello, Theo."

"Hello, Draco. What did Daph tell you so far?" Theo asked, leaning back much as Draco had moments before.

Draco summarized what he knew, trying to maintain a pleasant expression. He'd been doing it all his life, and it was almost second nature, but speaking of his mother upset even him. "…and, she knew about my condition. How?"

He eyed his friend carefully. Theo didn't blink, didn't fidget or wince or blush or anything that would make Draco suspect him of telling his mother. The thought was ridiculous, anyway; Theo distrusted Mrs. Malfoy just as much as Draco now did, and hadn't contacted her in the years she was gone. He was sure of that. "I do not know."

"Do you have the letter?"

"It's here." Theo rummaged in his jacket pocket, coming up with a folded letter. Draco took it, opened it, and scanned it:

_My Dearest Son, Draco,_ it began, and Draco clenched his fist at seeing her perfect handwriting tracing the letters of his name.

_I know you must be shocked to receive a letter from me _('_You don't know __**anything**__,'_ Draco thought angrily) _but please do not make any hasty decisions. It has been five years since I've seen you last; how are you, my son? I hope you are well, wherever you are in your life. Do you have a girlfriend, wife, children?_

_You are angry at me, Draco, and are probably thinking it is not my place to ask you these things – not after I left you. I apologize for that, son. You do not know how much I regret leaving you after your father's arrest and madness. I could not handle being in England, and fled without a second thought. Why, you must be thinking, am I writing now?_

_As I am writing this, my house elf is packing my bags. I'm to leave my lovely Italian villa and come to England. This may come as a shock, but there are important things we must discuss. After that, I hope to be a permanent part of your life once more. _

_One example of these 'things' we must talk about is this: I'm afraid that there is a…curse upon our family. Some may call it a blessing, but we know better, don't we? I imagine that after your twenty-second birthday, things began to change. Am I right? I suspect so. You might have felt a pull, or draw, towards someone or something. You are likely worried and scared. Do not fear. It is normal for the Blacks. You must have noticed that everyone coming out of my family was, at one point, extraordinarily handsome – I remember you asking me that every thing when you were young. "Why do they look so good?" you asked me as you looked at family portraits and I replied, "It's in the family." This is true. You see, the Black bloodline stretches far back to France and Italy._

_You know this very well. What I am about to tell you will come as a great surprise, but I will return and explain it all. We are Veelas, Draco, and the person you are feeling a pull to is your mate._

_Eagerly awaiting the sight of your beautiful face,_

_Your mother._

Draco stared at the letter, before he desperately fixed his eyes on first Daphne, then Theo. "Is…" he trailed off, clenching his fist, fingers digging into his smooth skin. "This woman! How dare she? This is nonsense! She knows nothing!" Though he protested, doubts surfaced; the pull she described, the inhumane beauty of his family before the Dark Arts infected them, the family roots to France and Italy. But how dare that woman write him _now_, assuming she knew everything about his life when, Draco thought angrily, she didn't know _shit?_

Theo rested a hand on his shoulder, and Draco tensed but didn't shrug it off. "I researched it, Draco. It's entirely plausible."

Draco stood, the chair scraping the floor roughly. "That's a lie, Theo!"

"You're making a scene, Draco," Daphne said quietly, but Draco laughed coldly. His head was spinning, he was sweating, the letter was crumpled in his palm. He couldn't think, his heart beat pounding in his head, and he had to leave, he couldn't stay here.

"That's not my bloody problem," he replied, his mouth forming the words clumsily. He darted his eyes around the room, feeling as if the walls were closing in on him. He was a _Veela_, a bloody half-breed, no better than the damn werewolf Lupin! How could his family do this to him? He blinked, suddenly his mother's refusal to his engagement to Pansy Parkinson making perfect sense. Of course she didn't want him married off; he already had someone "made" for him. His whole life was useless, he a pawn, his very existence only formed so he could be _forced_ to fall in love with his mate.

Draco removed the spell with a flick of his wand. "Thank you for your time, Theo, Daphne," he said, attempting to maintain an image of normality. "I have a very important meeting – I'll owl you two later with any news."

Daphne hurried to say something, but Draco didn't hear it. His ears were roaring, and he was so damn effing mad, he needed to hurt something, so he Disapparated roughly away.

He appeared in his kitchen, landing with a crash on a wooden chair that buckled under his weight. He ignored the pain in his leg, turning around and crashing his fist into the wall. "Goddammit!" Draco screamed, his voice harsh. "My whole fucking life, gone!"

He passed a hand roughly over his face, sinking to the floor. Though Draco Malfoy never cried, that is exactly what he did now.

He was useless. His life was gone. There was nothing more for him, only endless love for a Muggle woman, love that was fabricated and induced. "Don't I deserve a real life?"

_No, you don't_, he thought, sinking deeper and deeper down. _No. You're useless, you're worthless. Nobody would ever love you of your own accord – that's; why you have a mate. How does it feel, do know you've ruined a woman's life? To be tied to you forever, without a choice…_

_**Thursday**_

_11:49 PM_

He wouldn't go to her. It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve this life. If he had to remain his entire life in nothingness, so be it.

_**Friday**_

_12:30 AM_

He took a swig of firewhiskey, his eyes blurry. "Are you happy now, mother?" he asked, slurring the words. "Thi' is jus' what you wanted, innit?"

He laughed, sounding insane, the snickers loud in the empty house. He cradled the bottle to his chest after pouring more down his throat, the fiery liquor burning down his throat. Maybe he'd just die here. Yes, that sounded nice.

_**Saturday**_

_Sometime in the morning_

_(Daphne's P.O.V)_

Draco was passed out on his bed when she Apparated in his house. He'd been absent from work since Wednesday afternoon, and she'd explained away his absence and strange behavior at the restaurant by excuses of a sickness. As far as his employees knew, Draco was suffering a bad case of Dragon Pox, desperately wishing to return the work. The truth was anything but, she thought with a growl. _The bloody git's suffering a bad case of 'I've-Drunk-Too-Much-But-I-Can't-Sleep.'_

She'd won the rights to wake up Draco by losing a coin toss. Both Theo and Daphne loved their friend in their own way, but neither wanted to rouse a hung-over, depressed Draco. She wasn't sure what was going on his head; being a Veela couldn't be all that bad, could it? And anyway, he was only half-Veela, and a male one at that. Surely that wasn't cause for missing work? Daphne rather liked the idea of being irresistible to any guy. It had been so long since she'd been on a date…

She shook her head. Now was not the time to act so…girly, something she detested. She withdrew her wand, pointing it squarely at Draco's head. _Decisions, decisions,_ she thought sardonically, _Shall I douse him in water first, cast a Sobering charm, or set off his alarm?_

She deliberated for a second, before a muttered, "_Aguamenti,_" escaped her lips and a jet of water flooded Draco's bed. With a yell, he awoke, his head rising before he could stop himself. Daphne smirked as he spluttered, looking up, shaking his head before his eyes fixed on hers.

"Daphne! What the hell—ow, my head bloody hurts."

She winked, pointing her wand at him and casting a Sobering charm. He blinked and looked relieved, but even the charm didn't fix his lank appearance. "Gods, Draco, you look ghastly," she said, eyeing the same clothes he'd worn to the Wednesday lunch that were stained with firewhiskey. "I'll have to pick out a new outfit, now – this is awful."

Draco looked down and scowled. She smiled at him, feeling her cheeks heat up as he pouted. He was quite adorable sometimes, she thought embarrassedly. "I love you too, Daph," he growled, and she concealed the emotions that evoked in her when he said "I love you."

"You know it," she chirped instead. "Now, care to explain…this?"

He fidgeted. "Is it true?"

"Yes." Theo had confirmed it yesterday, having snitched some of Draco's hair to send it to a analyzer. He was ninety-three percent Veela, an extremely high rate.

Draco's nose crinkled. "So it is. Well, that's bloody great. Anyway, Daphne, you can go ahead and leave – I have something to do before I write my mother back."

She took a step back at the abrupt change of subject that she felt was out of character for Draco. "You're meeting her? And writing her?"

He laughed fakely. "Yes, I am. She's a liar and I don't want anything to do with her, but I have questions for her."

"Don't you want help?" Daphne questioned, brushing aside the hurt she felt at his dismissal.

"I'm perfectly capable of writing my mother," he replied, stretching. "Thank you for awakening me."

"You're…welcome," she said, taking another step back. "Er, Theo and I are here—"

"—if I need you, I am well aware of that," he said. "Now go, let me freshen myself up."

Feeling affronted, she Disapparated from his flat, appearing in her own house. What was up with him? He was so cool, so uncaring, as if he hadn't spent days drinking and ditching work. She ran her tongue against her teeth, wondering as to the cause of his behavior – of course! It was obvious!

He was planning on doing something stupid, she decided, and was distancing himself from her. He thought they would abandon him.

As if!

(Draco's POV)

As soon as his friend left, he collapsed back into bed. He felt bad about being so abrupt with her, he did, but he didn't feel up to probing questions. He needed to clear his head, and he couldn't do that with another in the area with him. After going without a sight of his beauty – _mate_, he corrected himself with a shudder - since Tuesday night, his head wasn't on straight. She didn't understand; Draco thought Daphne was probably jealous of his Veela genes. As if being forced into this life was a gift!

Shaking his head to clear the melancholy thoughts, Draco called out, "Tipsy!"

A house elf immediately appeared, bowing. "Yes?"

"Get me writing things, will you?" Draco ordered. The house elf bowed and disappeared, and he groaned. What was he supposed to say to his mother? _"Hello, nice to hear from you after your abandonment. What's this about me being a Veela? Oh, and stay far away from me. Draco." _Like that would go over well.

By the time Tipsy returned, he'd cast a Cleansing charm and had glamoured his appearance so he looked perfectly presentable. He took the parchment and quill, sitting at his desk.

_Mother,_ he began, before crossing that out and starting again. She was no mother of his.

_So you've finally returned,_ he wrote instead, forgoing any traditional greeting completely intentionally. _It's about time, isn't it?_ He continued writing, scratching many things out and starting over and over until he had a short, curt message that conveyed everything he wanted his mother to know:

_I have received your message. I'm doing perfectly fine here in England. I have two friends whom I am very close to. I am the head of an internationally famous company that is doing quite well. The only glitch, so to speak, in my perfect life is this curse you speak of – and your return. The first I am searching to rid myself of as soon as possible. The second grievance is more easily remediable. Apart from meetings to discuss this problem, I ask you stay far away from me. I have no mother anymore, nor am I in any need of one._

_-Draco_

Quite pleased with his message, he called for Tipsy once more. When she appeared, he instructed her to send this message to wherever his mother was and to bring back any reply. She disappeared to do his bidding, and he cracked his knuckles.

After nights of brooding, he'd come to one conclusion: he'd get rid of the Veela problem. There must be a way. He'd resort to removing the genes carrying the curse if he must, but he thought it didn't have to come to that. There were processes to bind magic, and who was to say there weren't spells to bind other aspects as well? His life was perfect, and he needed no pesky woman screwing it up.

_Yes, this shall work quite well,_ he thought, and celebrated with a smile.

**7:00 PM**

Groaning loudly, Draco shoved the pile of books away from him. He'd been researching all day, something he detested but was necessary, and had yet to find something useful. _It's not possible Veela bonds can't be broken_, he reassured himself. _There's no way Mother's mate was Lucius Malfoy. They weren't attracted to each other. She must've found a way._

He rubbed ink stains from his immaculate hands, frowning in dissatisfaction. He'd let himself go to rot, wearing the same clothes for days and skipping work. Luckily, the French Minister was tolerant of "diseases," and his team wasn't completely useless without him, or he'd be losing quite a large deal when he returned to work on Monday. How had he been so careless? He'd been a total workaholic after the war, he knew, but he loved his work so he didn't mind. The state he'd sunken to recently was disgraceful.

The clock in his flat over the front door chimed seven and Draco rose from his place at the library table and walked to the living room, sinking in an armchair. He'd been expecting a visit from Theo. Theo had been his friend longer than Daphne had, and the boy wasn't about to leave him alone. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Theo, but Draco knew from experience that a visit was in order.

He was right. At seven-oh-two exactly, a knock came at the door. He waved his wand to let Theo in, and heard his front door open with the slightest creak. "Draco?"

"In here," he replied. "Why are you here? You don't have to."

"Ending a sentence with a preposition? Lucius would be displeased." The man appeared in the living room doorway.

Draco hummed in defeat, making a face, though the action was childish. Theo laughed. He sat in the armchair next to Draco and asked, "Well?"

Though Draco was hesitant to share his mother's letter, he had the strange urge to confide in someone. His emotions were everywhere, and he was barely resisting the urge to visit the park, and he wanted to _share_ his feelings? He was going insane, but was powerless to stop it. That haunting beauty of his had bewitched him without any words or indication as to her identity, and he was feeling the effects hard. "She wrote me back," he said instead of saying the thirty-three things he wanted to, handing him the letter. Theo scanned it, and Draco knew what he was reading:

_Darling Dragon,_

_You don't know how pleased I was to receive a letter from you. I know you are furious, but may we talk tomorrow at noon at Malfoy Manor? I love you greatly, and miss you very much. I hope tomorrow we can sort things out, darling son._

_Your Loving Mother._

It was even shorter than his, but the sickening opening and closing ("_Darling Dragon"_ and "_Your Loving Mother"_) nauseated him. Theo raised an eyebrow as he finished reading and looked up. "This is it?"

"Yeah," Draco sighed, "Tomorrow's the Big Day."

Theo paused, assessing his friend with shrewd eyes. "You're going?"

"Should I not?" Draco asked. "Do I have a choice?" The answer was no. He didn't have a choice, not if he wanted to get his life back.

"Your mother would never let you go back on a promise," Theo said, smiling slightly, taking a risk by mentioning Narcissa. "Remember?"

"I try not to," he sighed, banishing thoughts of his mother and him from his mind. He hated this, this uncertainty, the knowledge that with one little letter his life was turned around and stuffed through a tiny hole. All he wanted was his mother and his girl to disappear forever – though the thought of the latter caused him to clench his fist – and leave him to his business. He was happy, damn it, and didn't need this drama.

"Want me to come?" Theo asked, reclining in the armchair. He summoned a bottle of Butterbeer and took a sip, groaning loudly. "I'll lock Daph up, the bloody girl. She was pestering me all day: Go see Draco. Is he all right? Did he write to his mother? Why'd he kick me out? Does he not like me? Is he mad at me?'" Draco chuckled at Theo's impersonation, though it was certainly false.

"I doubt that," he replied, knowing Daph wasn't the type of person to openly worry about anyone. "But perhaps she wanted an excuse to be near you?"

Theo spluttered and wiped his mouth, grinning widely. Draco knew there was no way his rather pathetic insult had caused the older man to choke on a drink, but he appreciated Theo's attempt to lighten the mood. "Daph, and _me_? Are you insane, Draco?"

"Some do say so," he sighed, dropping the topic for the moment. He thought they would make quite a good couple – but who was he to lecture about love? The thought of love only pulled him back into his gloominess. "Ah, Theo," he groaned loudly, "This isn't bloody fair." Theo regarded his friend carefully, unsure what to make of this new mood. Draco saw him staring and shrugged. "I'm never to fall in love."

"Don't get mushy on me, now," he said with false scathing. "You don't know that."

Draco took a sip of brandy, feeling it slither down his throat. "Oh, but I do, Theodore."

"No, you don't." Draco caught him eyeing his brandy glass, as if to tear it from his pale hands, so he gripped it tighter. "Stop looking at me like that, Theo."

"You're acting odd, Draco, and this letter from your mother isn't helping."

Draco gulped the rest of his brandy and poured himself some more. It was a bad idea to get drunk, again, but he'd cast a Sobering charm before drinking so he hoped he wouldn't repeat the experience. "I'm a bloody Veela, Theo. I was researching all day. You can't break the Veela bond."

"Is that such a bad thing? Now you know someone will take you. God bless her," he teased, lifting his glass in the air.

Theo's attempt to cheer Draco didn't work. "Yes, but she's with me because she was born to be with me, and I her. It's not like there's a choice involved." He kept quiet about his hopes to break the bond, as he didn't wish to be disappointed. Theo wouldn't hesitate to shoot down those ideas if they weren't to work, and he thought he could at least entertain such thoughts for a little while.

"Well, it's true love then, isn't it?" Theo said, his brow furrowing. Looking at him, Draco could almost see him hunched over stacks of books in the library, pushing up his glasses with one finger and scanning the thick tomes. Back when Draco shunned him for his unpopularity, he'd often joked Theodore and Granger ought to become a couple, so they could live among books together.

"Hardly. It's more like forced love," he said despondently. It was stupid to get worked up about this, but he'd always thought he had the _option_ to fall in love or not. He had no choice, now. Veelas couldn't live without their mates (_although my mother managed it, _he reminded himself) so it wasn't like he could ignore his genes and go about his life like before.

Theo shrugged. "Not to be callous, Draco, but I can hardly suggest anything now. Though, I do have an idea." Draco waved his hand, indicating the older boy to continue. "Hire a Ministry Researcher, pay him tons of money, and find out more."

"They have Ministry Researchers?" Draco asked, not bothering to conceal a conceited smirk. Why would anyone want to sit around all day and _research_ things, even for money?

"Yes, don't make fun, Draco," he huffed. "I was considering the job."

Draco's eyebrow rose. "But you enjoy working as a whatever-you-do for _Sleeping Dragon_ better, correct?"

"Yes, I PR for you – do you know what that means?" Theo said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "_Public Relations_, which contributed _largely_ to your success."

"PR," Draco snorted. "I swear I hired you as a message-boy for a galleon an hour."

"You did."

"Why are you 'PRing' now, then?"

"You also promoted me, or at least signed the contract of my promotion," Theo said with a smirk, knowing perfectly well Daphne had gotten the contract signed one night when Draco was drunk and sleep deprived.

"Bloody conspiracy." Draco huffed, running a finger along his glass. He looked at the brandy bottle, wrinkled his nose in distaste, and stood to rummage through his drink cabinet for something a little more fruity, to sweeten his mood, as Daphne would say.

"Yes," Theo replied, watching Draco pull out a few bottles and a metal cylinder. "A margarita, this early? Have you had dinner?"

"Not planning on it," he replied, not hungry in the slightest, "And margaritas are magnificent. Shut up. Do you want one?"

"I'm planning on dinner, thanks," Theo said, standing as well. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"Are you planning on staying here tonight?" Draco snorted. "Don't."

"Yes, I am," he said anyway, opening the living room door. "Daph insisted she stayed, but I rather thought you wouldn't appreciate that. So you're stuck with me."

"Damn," he groaned, pointing his wand at his margarita maker. He said, "On, bloody thing," and the metal container began to shake vigorously. Theo slipped from the room and Draco poured himself the icy drink, going back to his armchair. It froze his teeth and his brain, but the taste also made him think of happier times on the beach, sitting in the sand. Well, not actually _in_ the sand (he hated being covered with the stuff) but close enough.

"What are you planning to do tomorrow?" Theo walked back in, a tray of dinner in his hands.

"Hex the old lady once for good measure, then listen to what she has to say," he answered, completely truthfully.

"That's not funny."

"I rather thought it was," he said, and ended the discussion before it even began.

_8:49_

Draco was drunk. Theo was not.

At least, that was what Draco claimed when he failed to hear somebody dismantling his wards. Theo, who was half asleep, tensed and withdrew his wand but said nothing. He had a suspicion as to who it was, and he didn't want to rouse Draco from his plight of self pity.

Now, Draco was a fast draw. He could beat Theo and Daphne at any fight, even without a wand and two-against-one, and all three knew it. Living with the Dark Lord germinated those types of reflexes and magic ability. However, he had a very low tolerance for alcohol, and so the buzz in his head was pleasantly drowning off all other noises. So, when Daphne Greengrass appeared in his living room brandishing a wand, it took him nearly five seconds to respond with a _Stupefy_.

She dropped to the floor, but Theo revived her immediately. "Bloody hell, Draco," he started, before Daphne stood over him.

"What the bloody hell is your problem, you paranoid bastard?" Daphne cursed at him, making him wince. His head was _pounding. _She cast a Sobering charm, grimacing, as it didn't work. "You've been drinking to much…_Soberis. Soberis!_"

Theo's eyebrows went up as it took three more Sobering charms to revive Draco from his drunken daze. "You were that out of it, and you still dropped Daphne?" Theo snickered, slapping his friend on the back. "My kind of man."

Draco waited for the inevitable comment from Daphne – a rather weak "A madman, more like!" – and groaned. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you from the pits of hell and self-pity," Daphne said sharply. "Let me guess, you whined about lost love and drunk yourself into a stupor."

"Leave," he said grouchily, ignoring her accurate prediction, "Nobody wants you here."

"You sound like a disgruntled first year," Daphne scolded. Draco opened his mouth to protest, but she held up one hand. "I'll leave as soon as we plan what you are saying when you meet with your mother. It's Sunday, correct?"

"Yes, tomorrow; what do you suggest?" Draco shoved aside his annoyance at his friend in favor of doing some good Slytherin planning.

"Make it a business meeting," Theo said instantly. He might appear anti-social and more interested in books than people, but he was observant, and he knew a lot about interactions. "She'll try to make it sentimental; don't let her."

"Theo told me about the Ministry Researcher idea, and I procured a list of the top researchers and their profiles – here you are." Daphne produced the list out of somewhere and handed it to Draco, and the three got down to various scheming and plotting: what they did best.


	3. Chapter 2: Mothers

_A/N: Hey, guys. THANK YOU to all my reviewers...they light up my dayyyy. A quick word about updates: I can't promise I'll update every week. Sometimes I'll go on a writing frenzy and you'll get two updates in a week, sometimes I'll be supremely busy and you'll have to wait. I won't take more than a month, I promise! I try to keep a certain number of words ahead of you, so sometimes I forget if I've already posted something, or one section is particularly hard to write. For this chapter, it wasn't really hard to write, but I'd followed it up with Draco and his mate (okay, we all know it's Hermione) meeting up and talking and all that...but I scrapped it, and so had to rewrite a couple thousand words! That's my excuse to you._

_Anyway, here's another chapter. About 6,000 words. Enjoy, and if you did, drop me a review or PM! I lovelovelove them. If you didn't enjoy it...review anyway :) Don't worry, I won't withhold chapters for lack of reviews, but they DO motivate me to work faster. This is, again, unbetaed and I'm awful at proofreading, so I apologize in advance for any errors._

_Thankya!_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday<strong>_

_**11:30, Malfoy Manor**_

Draco sat at the long dining table, half-an hour early, inspecting the layout critically. He was at one end and she on the other, so conversation would be hindered by the distance. _Excellent. _Food was already at the table, heated and ready with the help of Tipsy and a few Statis charms. He had his Veela research lined up, as well as the names of a few "Ministry Researchers" Daphne had given him. This would not be a casual meeting, no. He had followed Theo's instructions and made this as business-like as possible.

He cracked his knuckles, sitting up from his reclined position. He re-arranged his plate and goblet so the silver settings would block his view of her face, but returned it to its original spot, dismissing the idea as petty and childish. He would face her head on. Still, he poured himself wine and pointed his wand at it, running through spells in his mind until he decided on a concealment charm, so it looked like water. He was drinking entirely too much alcohol lately, so a Sobering charm was next on the list. Minutes ticked by without any sign of his mother, and he stared at his reflection in his goblet. Should he comb his hair back, or leave it mussed like he wore it now? She'd last seen him with gelled hair, and that alone was enough for him to leave it falling into his eyes. He'd changed, and she should be well aware of that fact.

Draco was dressed in a smart dark green long-sleeve shirt, a silver tie complimenting the outfit. He'd originally left the collar standing up, but realized he looked too casual, and quickly smoothed it down. He was wearing slacks and dress shoes, forgoing traditional dress robes. Nobody under the age of thirty wore them anymore, and Muggle clothing was rather "in," according to Daphne. This made sense, he supposed, as many jobs required contact with them. It wouldn't do to show up to a meeting in robes. Not to mention his mother would undoubtedly be wearing them, and Theo advised he appeared as different as possible from the Draco that Narcissa remembered.

Taking a deep breath, he started to clear his mind, remembering his late godfather's instructions. Severus Snape had taught his prodigy well, and within seconds his mind was clear and locked, protected by a shield nobody around him was competent enough to break.

It was just on time, too, as Tipsy appeared in the dining room. "Master Draco," the elf said, "Your mother is here."

"Does she look well?"

Tipsy hesitated. "Better than before, Master, but not as she did when you were young."

He'd expected as much. No doubt she had used a complicated mirage of spells to create a balance between looking too sorrowful and looking revitalized. "Send her in."

Tipsy nodded, ears drooping as she bowed. "Yes, Master. And Master?"

"Yes?" Draco answered, wondering what the elf wanted. It wasn't like them to speak up.

"You look very nice."

"Thank you, Tipsy, now fetch her," Draco replied, taken aback by the compliment from his oldest elf. Tipsy had changed his diapers and played with the lonely boy when he was young, and had been freed ever since Draco had been six and wanted to dress up as Death Eaters and Aurors, forcing Tipsy to wear a dark sheet around her like he'd seen hanging in his father's closet.

"Draco…" the voice came, quiet, whispered into the air from the doorway. Draco did not tense as she surely wanted, instead silently turning to face her.

She looked well, as Tipsy had said. Her thin face had filled out, regaining some of the beauty she'd once had. Her hair was longer and thicker, still a shining white, and the stress lines that marred her forehead were magicked away. Her face was pale, however, and her lips turned down in sadness. She was wearing Malfoy robes, and the sight caused him to inhale deeply, but other than that he showed no emotions. "Mother," he greeted her, refusing to rise in traditional respect.

She noticed this, he saw, and slumped ever so slightly before regaining her posture. "How are you, Draco?"

"Wonderful," he replied, voice laced with sarcasm. "I'm doing quite brilliantly. Please, sit, so we can get this _fabulous_ meeting over with."

"Pansy's been getting to you with her adjectives, has she?" Narcissa tried to joke, but stopped at the cold fury Draco allowed to cross his face. Instead, she hurried to sit at the other end of the table.

"Do not mention that vile woman," he hissed, clenching his fist. Pansy had thought she meant something to him, and had tried to seduce him many times. Affronted by his less-than-satisfactory response to her advances, she'd become bitter and jealous. She'd sold out Potter so Draco would notice her, and when he didn't she slept with Blaise Zabini as if her supposed 'betrayal' would mean anything to him.

"She isn't one of those two friends?" Narcissa questioned, nervously sipping her water. _Hide your emotions better, Mother, for I can read you quite easily_.

"Of course not," he replied, resisting the urge to spit out, "_And if you were here you would know that, wouldn't you?"_

"Who are they, then?"

"Daphne Greengrasss and Theodore Nott." His answer was curt.

Her surprise was obvious. "You never liked Daphne when you were young, and I remember you teasing Theodore quite horribly."

His only answer: "Things change."

"So they do." Narcissa was quiet, refusing to look at her son. Instead, she served herself some chicken and passed the dish along the table.

"Why have you returned?" He asked, spearing a bite of chicken but not eating it, so intent on the answer.

She sighed. "Must we talk about this now? I wish to catch up with you, my son."

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," he answered instead, noting the way she bit her lip in frustration.

"Oh, stop this, Draco, you're being childish." She withdrew her wand and so did he, but he didn't disarm her, curious to see as to what she was to do. She didn't hex him, instead shortening the table so they were merely a few feet away from each other. "This is much better. I've always loathed that table."

Angry that his plans had been thwarted, he deflected the attention from him. "Tell me about Italy and France." He didn't care in the slightest, but he needed time to re-evaluate the situation before he begun business.

For the remainder of the lunch, she went on and on about her five years there. He didn't comment but once or twice, which she received gratefully. He busied himself gulping down the heady wine, body tensed in the seat. He felt inexplicably happy, and knew the emotions hadn't originated from his meeting with his mother, as seeing her cool face did nothing for his mood, but from his…mate. Grimacing at the word, he glanced at his mother, who had finished eating and was gesturing with her fork as she explained the "delights" of some Italian spa treatment. Draco had the oddest urge to leap from the table and Disapparate _somewhere_, though he didn't know where. Again, he assumed this came from her.

"Draco," Narcissa said sharply, eying him with shrewd eyes that only a mother can posess. "You are not listening to me."

"Ah, I can see why your husband married you," he shot back, the reply rolling curtly off his tongue. "He particularly enjoyed it when one stated the obvious, do you recall?"

Narcissa winced, and Draco felt no little satisfaction, knowing she was remembering a rather gruesome time when he had been ten and had, as he'd put it moments earlier, "stated the obvious." This had displeased Lucius greatly, who'd taken it upon himself to _Crucio_ the habit out of him. "He is your father, Draco," Narcissa said heatedly when Draco raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. "and I demand you address him such."

"That madman?" Draco laughed, heart racing, "He's no father of mine." _And it is not your place to demand anything of me._

"He contributed to your birth and upbringing–"

"Yes, I was particularly _fortunate_ to be born into such a fabulous, kind, loving family," he drawled, voice laced with sarcasm. His fist was clenched again, and the urge to leave was nearly overpowering him. He wasn't sure of the origin, but guessed it came mostly from his mate. "I am rather bored by this conversation, and I have somewhere to be. Let us meet on Wednesday for lunch, one o'clock, and bring all you can about this Veela nonsense."

Narcissa stood. "We are not done here, Draco," she said, and he remembered her using that tone on him as a child. But he wasn't scared anymore, wasn't willing to follow other's bidding, and the command rolled off his back like water.

"I rather think we are," he replied, and disappeared from the Manor.

He reappeared in a Muggle square, thankfully behind a tree so his sudden appearance wasn't noticed, and frowned in thought. He hadn't ever seen this place, so his earlier suspicion that she generated these urges was strengthened. He scanned the crowd eagerly, heart suddenly thumping painfully. He could see her, see his mate for the very first time. He stepped out from behind the tree, closing his eyes briefly as he searched for her, trying to locate the pull from inside himself. He was sure he looked ridiculous, but they were only Muggles after all – though his future, dare he say it, _wife_ may be one of them – and he didn't care what he looked like in front of them.

_There!_ He felt the pull, as strong as was during the day, and opened his eyes eagerly, only to see a sweep of brown hair as the woman disappeared into a store. He ran after her blindly, breath echoing in his ears as he pushed through the door and froze. There were millions of brown haired woman in the store that held food (he supposed this was where house elves fetched food for dinner, except for Muggles) and he looked around desperately. He'd lost the pull and after a few minutes of fruitless searching exited the store. He glanced around once more hopelessly and crouched behind the trees once more, Disapparated with a small crack.

This time, he appeared in his flat. He threw himself on the couch, staring at the cream colored ceiling. He'd almost saw her! He knew that if she was his mate they'd have to lay eyes on each other, but he never actually envisioned seeing her.

_She has brown hair_.

Brown hair. That was odd; he'd thought she would be a blond. All Malfoy wives were blond, as far back as he could remember. This was to ensure good genes. He closed his eyes again, picturing her hair spread over his white pillows as she slept on, her warm body waking up next to his, a smile curving her lips as she leaned over to kiss him –

Angry at himself, he muttered an expletive. What was he doing, thinking about love and all that nonsense? Disgusted with himself, he grabbed a sheath of graph paper and spread them out over the table. He peered over it, distracting himself with thoughts of angles and lengths.

He was struggling with the awning for the French Ministry building. He envisioned it as being grand and graceful, the swooping of eagle's wings (for eagles were the French Minister's favourite animal) spread out. But, no matter how many times he drew and redrew the diagram, two meters of roof were missing. He couldn't extend the roof or it would fall in the middle, nor could he bring in the wall because he'd have to reconfigure the entire west wall.

He cocked his head, erasing the Muggle charcoal pencil he used to draw his figures. He'd started out drawing with Muggle pencils after the war when he'd got them from Diagon Alley five a galleon as opposed to expensive quills. Cheap quills were barely worth the time it took to weed them out from among the gleaming feathers, so he'd hardly bothered with those.

Draco had been quite rich, but for a ridiculously long time he'd been too afraid to go in Gringotts. The last time he'd seen a goblin was the one with Scar Damage locked in his basement, and he'd heard goblins held grudges. He found, to his surprise, charcoal pencils were easy and fun to work with, and very cheap. He'd spent hours drawing buildings in Diagon Alley, eating free ice creams in exchange for making advertisements and pictures for what's-his-name, Florean For-something. That's where Leon had found him – Leon was an old man who'd donated many of his old architecture diagrams to the younger blonde. He'd died a short while after.

_Hmm…_Draco traced the tip of his wand along the outline of the back wall, the marks erasing after the wood passed over it. He fixed the wall so it came in at a 30° angle, a slant that met nicely with the awning up front. _Success!_

Pleased with himself, Draco continued drawing, banishing the thoughts of his mate out of his head.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Monday<strong>_

_**7:00 AM**_

Draco walked into work, clutching his drawings proudly. He passed through the lobby, nodded a hello to Theo who was arranging a press conference on his phone – Draco didn't see the point of the Muggle objects – and took the elevator instead of Flooing directly into his office. He passed Daphne, who was sitting in front arguing with a squat man about something, and into the main hallway. _Sleeping Dragon_ was a large, U-shaped building, with four floors. The top floor was him and his team, their offices stretching around the U with his in the middle. The floors under him went from VIP (4th Floor) to Nobody-Gives-A-Shit-About-You-Or-Your-Job-So-You-Better-Preform-Well-Otherwise-Draco-Will-Fire-You-Without-A-Second-Thought (1st Floor).

He spotted Daphne immediately and raised his eyebrow fractionally, letting her know to gather Theo and meet in his office. He gently drew his bottom lip between his teeth, as if he was about to say the "f" in "five," to let her know he expected them there in five minutes. His message passed on, he continued walking and greeting others cordially.

"Mr. Draco!" A pretty young woman, Gabrielle Jenkins, said hello enthusiastically. "You look fantastic, for somebody who was sick."

"You look entirely too happy for somebody who suffered without her utterly charming boss for the past couple of days," he responded instantly, smirking as a few people nearby laughed. Gabrielle pouted at him, and he inquired, "Has the company gone to the dogs since I was…indisposed?"

"Hardly the dogs, more like the puffed up baboons of the Ministry," Nicholas Brown said in disgust. Draco had been hesitant to hire the cousin of the vapid Lavender Brown, but Nick had proven himself five times over. Not to mention he'd gone to Durmstrang and was personal friends with Viktor Krum. "They were investigating, convinced you were off conducting some evil plan, especially since, well…"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Since?"

Nick smoothed his face over. "Since you're a Malfoy."

"Nice excuse, but I am rather good at spotting deception, wouldn't you agree?" Draco said mildly. He was impressed with the other man's facial control, and that pride softened his voice slightly.

"Since your mother returned to England," Theo said from behind him. Draco's face didn't change, though he wanted to spit out a vulgar curse. No doubt she had hired a reporter of Rita Skeeter's ilk to print a favorable review of her return. "Now, Nick, Gabrielle, Mary and Brett, I'm sure you're pleased to see Draco alive from the dead, but Daphne and I have to catch him up. We'll be having a Top Floor meeting in thirty minutes, so be prepared to present."

The four of his employees scattered, and Theo walked with Draco the few steps to his office, where Daphne was waiting outside. As soon as she saw him, Daphne began reporting on the Ministry's investigation. "Fudge's disciple and Kingsley himself were here yesterday…"

The three entered his office and immediately Daphne stopped talking. She'd fill him in later, but now she wanted to hear about the meeting. "Well?"

"I'm meeting her Wednesday," Draco muttered. "We didn't get anything done."

"She did," Theo commented. "She manipulated you, Draco, into meeting again."

Draco cursed as he realized it was true. He remembered her sipping the water nervously, shortening the table, and the odd gleam in her eyes as she mentioned his father. It had all been to surprise him! "Dammit," he said again, with feeling. "The sly bitch."

Daphne didn't chastise him for his slur towards his mother. She was looking at him thoughtfully. "Why do you even have to meet your mother?" She held up her hand when Draco began to speak. "Wait, let me finish. You only need her for the Veela information, and honestly, a good Researcher can find that out in a jiffy. Owling her would be so much simpler and you wouldn't even give her a chance to manipulate her again."

Theo frowned. "I don't suggest doing that, Draco. She'll think you're distancing yourself and advance her efforts to worm her way back into your lives. Remember what Lucius always said? 'Let the enemy think he's winning, and only then shall you take control.' It's that situation now."

"Yes…" Draco trailed off thoughtfully. "That is a good idea. So was yours, Daphne," he hastened to add, "but just when she believes she's ensnared me in her web – I'll pull the plug."

"It will leave her angry,"' warned the sole female member of the group. She then smiled maliciously. "Let her get mad; we can handle her."

Draco hardly heard. He was busy categorizing his mother as The Enemy, something that was surprisingly hard. _Never assume somebody fits into one role_, he told himself firmly, ignoring the fact that he was indeed quoting his father. He added The Mother to Narcissa's list of roles. After a beat, he included The Reconciler, something he was sure she wanted to be. _Everybody has multiple roles; the challenge is to decipher each and counter them with separate attacks. Can you do that, Draco? Can you disarm them, son?_

"Yes," he whispered. "I can."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**9:30 AM**

(Jamie Callagher's P.O.V)

_Mr. Callagher,_

_Your position as Main Editor for the __Daily Prophet__ isn't given to anyone, I'm sure; the fact that you achieved this position in only twelve years speaks volumes for your intelligence, and that shrewdness is what I'm writing to you about now._

_I'm sure you have heard of my mother's return to England. I have it from an inside source that she has planned to bribe one of your reporters to write her a positive article in your paper, and if that fails, try __Witch Weekly__. I trust you understand why this wouldn't do well for either paper, especially as I am prepared to finance an investigation to discover whom I should sue._

_I am confident that you know what to do with this information, but in case any of your employees need valid proof: let it be known that I, Draco Malfoy, do not want to see an article announcing my mother's return that has a positive tone. I will investigate and sue for libel, as a positive review of her is undoubtedly negative for me. This missive will disappear if you try to show it to anyone not working at __The Daily Prophet__, such as a lawyer, for security reasons._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_CEO, Sleeping Dragon Architecture Firm_

_Head of the Malfoy family_

_Head of the Black family_

Jamie looked up from the letter and wiped his brow, knowing perfectly well that he'd given the 'OK' to one of his lesser employees to accept Narcissa Malfoy's bribe only half an hour ago. He wondered how Malfoy had known, and then reasoned that stories of his cunning and intuition were known, and he probably had sources in the Daily Prophet at this instant.

"Beth!" Jamie yelled for his secretary, who appeared in an instant.

The twenty-something woman gave him a seductive smile. "What can I do for you, Boss?" She questioned, clearly certain this was one of those "Shag-My-Boss-On-His-Desk" moments. Her smile disappeared quickly when he ordered all of his employees - "Every single one, Boss?" - to be gathered in the conference hall.

Beth left to do his bidding, and Jamie collapsed in his chair, scrabbling for the handle of his desk drawer. His fingers found purchase and he pulled it open, taking a pill bottle and screwing it open, shaking a few orange circles into his hand. Jamie tipped all but one back in the jar, dropping one and breaking another but not noticing in his panic. He chewed the Muggle pill slowly, and the nausea in his stomach dissipated with every bite of the orange-flavored medicine.

An out-right threat from Draco Malfoy was bad.

It was absolutely disastrous. Jamie was quite well-versed in the manner of business, and he knew that Malfoy knew with certainty of his acceptance of Narcissa Malfoy's money. He also was aware that Malfoy wouldn't hesitate to act on his threat; a lawsuit for the Daily Prophet would be the end of his career and lose them millions of galleons. He was _not_ prepared for that, especially not over a stupid article.

Shooting up in his chair suddenly, Jamie waved his wand above his head, trying to search for listening devices embedded in the room. Malfoy had a spy in the company, he was sure, and was probably owling his lawyers as the seconds passed.

Tearing a sheet from his Muggle notepad, Jamie started writing, his letters shaky out of fear.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_Duly noted. Thank you for the advance warning. I have taken care of the problem._

_Sincerely,_

_Jamie Callagher_

_Editor of The Daily Prophet_

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**12:25**

He was there thirty minutes early, simply because he knew she would arrive twenty minutes early and he wanted to beat her there.

With his mother, it was always ten minutes early, which was precisely why he suspected her to now appear twenty minutes before. She would be counting on him to go fifteen minutes ahead of schedule to stake out the territory, only to find her sitting there primly, sipping chamomile tea.

Of course, he'd had the entire restaurant staked out since Tuesday. Arriving earlier was only a precaution. He was dressed similarly to last time, in slacks and a nice collared shirt. His hair was artfully mussed, and his face was a mask of stone that had taken nearly forty minutes alone to perfect with his friends' help.

12:30 saw him choosing a table in the bustling restaurant. In the back, near a window, secluded, without giving her the impression that they were having a private conversation. Knowing secrets gave one power, and he wanted to let her know that he did not care who knew of the Veela business.

However, Draco cared quite a lot, and that was one of his reasons for arriving early. He constructed careful privacy wards that would not be felt, all the while under a strong invisibility spell. His wards were simple, only hiding their conversation and masking their words from eavesdroppers. Under his wards, his hair appeared black to those without Black blood (his little joke) and his eyes black as well. Narcissa would match his appearance. After a moment, he tied a Relaxation charm into the wards, keyed to Narcissa's presence, so her guard would drop. Satisfied that his precautions were good, he exited, dropped the spell, and entered again.

Sitting at the table, he ordered a water with a lemon slice. It appeared on his table nearly a second later, and he sipped it nonchalantly as he watched around him for signs of action.

There – he saw a ripple. He was relatively positive it was Narcissa but looked casually away as he pointed his wand at her under the table, ending her spells. In the reflection of the window, he saw his mother flicker before she recast the spell. Satisfied with himself, he muttered "Accio" and watched as the ripple moved towards him with dizzying speed.

Narcissa ended her charm herself, patting down her hair. "Draco," she said sternly, but without much venom. "That was childish."

"Sit down, Mother," he replied. "You're causing a scene."

She entered his wards and a barely noticeable softening moved across her face. It wasn't much, but her lips raised a hint and the wrinkles on her forehead were less pronounced. He mentally cheered. He looked over at the waiter, who was watching him curiously – Draco had promised him three fivers if he'd get them their food, fast, and come when summoned. He raised an eyebrow, and the boy immediately sped towards them.

"I'm Johnny, what may I get you this afternoon?"

"Grilled chicken," he ordered crisply. He looked over at his mother. "A salad, I presume?"

If his accurate observation fazed her, she didn't let on. Narcissa smiled charmingly at the spotty boy. "Yes, as my darling son pointed out, I would like your Chef Salad."

Draco gritted his teeth as the waiter bowed and left. "Mother," he said, remembering his speech. "Tell me all you know about this family curse."

"Blessing," she corrected, raising one pale eyebrow. "It is dominant through females, which is why you have it when all direct male descendants are gone. I'm sure you remember the Delacour girl, from your fourth year?"

Talk about being put on the spot. Fourth year...the Tournament. Oh, what a year that was. It had been going quite excellently - who cared if Potter was succeeding, he'd recently acquired a girlfriend and found that other girls in Slytherin found him irresistible - until the Dark Lord had returned. Draco searched his memory for the name and came up with a stunningly gorgeous girl, who'd made all the boys (Weasley, especially) act like fools. He'd heard rumors of her being a Veela, but hadn't given them any more thought. "Yes, she was part Veela. Through her grandmother, correct?"

His mother looked faintly impressed at his memory. "Yes. The Veela gene sometimes skips a generation, and when it does, it is a certainty that it will be manifested in the first born child. I managed to pass it on to you."

The small amount of pride in her voice made his face darken. He sipped his water carefully, his gaze settling outside the window where common people were going along on their day. He took in their appearances and positions and amused himself by guessing their next actions while his mother looked at him. The man in the atrocious purple suit who was gazing longingly at a snobby woman across the street - he didn't have the balls to approach her, Draco thought to himself. He'd Apparate away. Two seconds later, he did, and Draco smirked to himself in satisfaction.

"I remember that smirk..." Narcissa's voice was wistful.

He snapped back to attention. "Continue, Mother. I thought the Veela line started in France; why do the Italian Blacks have the genes?"

This made the older woman incensed. "France? France? Why, the French stole the gene from us! Centuries ago, a witch by the name of Vedette Rossi, was given to a Frenchman of noble blood as a form of payment to fulfill a debt."

"Let me guess: she was the first Veela?" He played with the rim of his glass.

"This is not a fairytale, Draco," Narcissa rebuked. "Vedette was a Veela, yes, but hardly the first. Her child was declared the first French Veela, and she was auctioned off to another man when she was fourteen to produce another Veela child. Nearly all of the Veelas in France are related to that child, and records of Vedette Rossi have been lost."

Draco examined his nails. "How do we know of her, then?"

His mother's expression was alight with something, pride, or maybe honor. "She is your relative, Draco."

He filed that thought away. "Please, enough story telling. Is that all the information I need to know about the curse?"

"Blessing."

"Get on with it, Mother."

She shook her head. "It is possible to live without a mate. It requires a sacrifice; I sacrificed my freedom, Bella sacrificed her sanity."

This got his attention. "Bella? Aunt Bella? She wasn't a Veela, she was..." he trailed off with a shudder. His Aunt had been insane, ugly, disfigured with madness and Dark Magic.

"A victim," Narcissa supplied in a soft voice. "She never knew who her mate was, or if she did, she never told me. She married Lestrange in order to strengthen our family's position with the Dark Lord, and because our father ordered it."

He wouldn't tell her, but he was starting to get afraid. "How old was she when she turned insane?"

"It happened shortly after her marriage. She was twenty three, I believe."

Of the three ice cubes in his glass, one was melting, and the other two were perfectly intact. His mother's glass was condensed more than his was, and three out of seven drops of water were trailing down one side. He focused his eyes on one of the droplets, willing his voice to remain steady. "I am nearly twenty three."

"That is why I returned now."

"Is that it, then?" Draco looked up, met her eyes for the first time. "Am I to go mad in the next year?"

"No, Draco," she said, shaking her head. "But unless you meet your mate, you will be forced to sacrifice something."

"Is there no way to get out of it?"

He wished desperately for her to answer. If this was fiction, she'd look guilty and reply, "Well...there is, but nobody has ever tried it," and thus would begin attempts to try this ancient cure. He'd battle death and fall in love - either with his mate or his researcher - but not before the cure worked.

This wasn't fiction, however, and she only shook her head. "I don't know," she said in a whisper. "No cure has ever been found."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday<strong>

**7:02 PM**

"Vedette Rossi?" Draco lit his wand and looked around in distaste. This attic really had gone to the dogs. After the war, he'd been so sick of his family that he'd ordered all portraits to be unceremoniously tossed in one room. It looked like the house elves had taken his requests literally, and there were portraits upside down, under tables, everywhere. "Is anyone here named Vedette Rossi?"

One portrait, with aristocrat features, raised an eyebrow just like Lucius. "Ah, the Malfoy heir. Listen, boy. No portrait in this room will help you unless you place us all walls - with gold plaques with our names." A chorus of assent rose from the other pictures.

He was certainly a Malfoy, but so was Draco. He lifted an answering eyebrow, and summoned fire out of the tip of his wand. "What's to stop me from burning any portrait that refuses to help me, Draco Potere Malfoy?"

"A pretentious sounding name, that," snorted the painted man, not afraid in the slightest. No Malfoy would burn history. "What is your middle name, boy?"

"Potere; it means 'power,'" Draco said coldly. "Now, listen to me. I will have all of you cleaned and mounted - without plaques, that may come after you do something else for me - but you have to swear that you will do anything to help me. in my quest." He briefly thought about ordering them to obey future generations, before deciding his children could fend for themselves.

"No."

"Incendio," he said, almost lazily, and watched in amusement as the painted man shrieked and ran away from the burning corner of his frame.

"You are destroying history!"

"No," Draco said coolly. "You are destroying history. All you have to do is help me find a cure for the Veela curse. And be quick about it, the flames have almost reached the canvas."

Voices raised in chorus: "Help him, Arectus! He is a Malfoy! He'll burn you to a crisp! Your pride isn't worth it."

Arectus Malfoy sighed in defeat. "I'll help you find a damn cure, if you uphold your side of the deal."

Draco cancelled the spell and smiled in satisfaction. "Excellent. Now, point me to Vedette Rossi."

Five minutes had his elves transporting portraits out of the room to be cleaned, and Draco sitting in front of a picture of a beautiful blond woman who looked about his age.

"Potere," she said quietly, licking her painted lips. "It suits you."

He lounged in his chair. "Vedette. A sentry, yes? A scout."

She looked to be impressed with his quick translation. Truly, his mother had let that slip, but who was she to know? "I think we shall get along excellently, Potere."

"Draco."

Vedette laughed, her long blond hair shaking behind her painted body. "Draco is your human name," she said softly. "Potere is what your mother named your Veela side."

He gave her a quick look. "I don't have to change my name now, do I?"

She laughed again, and the sound was musical. The poise she excluded even by sitting as a portrait was astounding. He found himself captivated, and could only imagine what she would have been like when alive. "Hardly, Potere. I shall call you it, as it fits you. Although, you are a snake that fights with fire, yes? A dragon."

He eyed her cautiously. The metaphorical talk was a little too abstract for him. "I suppose so," was his safe answer.

She appeared to recognize that he didn't want to talk about his name any longer. "I presume you don't know who your mate is?"

"You presumed correctly; I believe she is a Muggle, though."

She shook her head. "Impossible. A wand chooses a wizard, yes? It's the same concept. A Veela's magical core seeks out a matching magical core. This doesn't mean your mate is a Pureblood, however."

"What, so do we have the same wand?" He didn't actually believe that to be true, but it was just an idle question to busy her while he calmed himself. His mate was magical! He wanted to rejoice. He wasn't so opposed to Muggles anymore - he employed some Muggle techniques to great effect at Dragon, like telephones and Muggle pens - but he didn't want to introduce somebody to a world they would never belong in. He couldn't dream of marrying somebody without magic.

"I shall assume that was an inconsequential question and won't answer it." He chuckled as Vedette regarded him with a regal eye. "I will assume, however, that you want to find a cure."

"Correct."

"Don't," she said bluntly. "You will be infinitely happier if you just exist peacefully with your mate. She doesn't love you, not yet, and there's no guarantee that she will. Nothing, not even ancient magic, can completely control a human's will. Expend your energy on making her fall in love with you."


	4. Chapter 3: Manipulation

A/N: About 7,000 words. Next chapter (which will be posted on Friday) Draco finds out his mate is Hermione. Ohh, drama.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**12:08 AM**

It was a witch that stood in front of him, not a Muggle. He watched her form curiously. Why did she come to a Muggle park, night after night? He had reasoned that if she visited Muggle attractions and shopped at Muggle places, she was either a Muggleborn or wished to be.

He put himself under a Disillusionment charm and crept closer. She was - crying? He saw her shoulders shaking. A second later, a flood of sadness overwhelmed him and he fell to his knees. It was extremely difficult, but he remembered what Vedette had told him - he could influence his mate's emotions and vice-versa - and pulled together the sadness, balled it up, and suppressed it behind his Occlumency masks. He tried to feel calm.

His mate stopped crying abruptly. She stood and looked around her anxiously. He clearly saw her outline raise a wand and cast a spell...and a second later, she was gone.

Shit!

**Still Friday**

**8:28 AM**

Draco was busy manipulating.

He had received a missive saying that, unless they came to an agreement, the Minister expected completed blueprints for his fancy new building a week from tomorrow. That was insane. The Minister clearly didn't know how to design a building, especially one as complicated as the Ministry building. Currently, he had to deal with a sobbing Mary Mastil, who couldn't figure out how to neutralize the magical charges in the Floo-in area, not to mention Nick, who was arguing with Joanne about whether the walls would look better curved inwards or outwards. A nightmare. He needed to convince the Minister to extend the deadline at least two weeks. He cast a few more spells to his face, making his pallor slightly grey and sickly - not that doing so was hard. Then, he sat at his desk and wrote a note, in his most elegant handwriting:

_Dear Minister __Dupont,_

_I have found myself unexpectedly with a rare moment of calm. I have completed all the scheduled work I missed when I was ill with Dragon Pox and would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience._

_Thank you,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_CEO, Sleeping Dragon Architecture Firm_

_Head of the Malfoy Family_

_Head of the Black Family_

Draco's hand nearly trembled as he traced over the last line in his silver ink. Head of Black family. The cursed family that hadn't given him anything good...He dried the letter and sent it through the Floo, waiting for a reply.

As expected, it was only five minutes later when a creamy parchment sailed through his fireplace. It was obviously very expensive, and he opened the envelope with care. The note was short:

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_Would today right now work for you? I'd be pleased to meet with you._

_Sincerely,_

_The Minister of Magic_

_Jon Dupot_

Draco had known this would happen. Minister Dupot was an impatient man. He pressed his wand to the "Yes" box on the letter and it disappeared, presumably to France. He wasted a second wondering about time differences, before deciding that for a man like the French Minister, time differences were hardly applicable. Hadn't he been in Monaco yesterday, and Switzerland the day before last?

It didn't matter. While he waited for the man to appear in his office, his thoughts turned to his mate. He didn't know what was going on, but ever since this morning, he'd been feeling intensified feelings of lust towards his mysterious mate...he wanted to pin her against the wall and ravish her until she was screaming his name...

"Mr. Draco, the Minister is here to see you."

Draco took a second to cast a very fast Notice-Me-Not charm on his lower regions, wanting to blush. Curse his insatiable libido! He hadn't gotten laid since this Veela curse manifested. Then, he stood, smiled pleasantly, and greeted his guest.

"Minister Dupot," he said, pronouncing the name perfectly. "Enchanté de vous voir." (Pleased to see you).

"Merci, Mr. Malfoy," the Minister said graciously. He was a small man, but carried himself with grace. Draco respected him, even if he was entirely too impatient for his own good, and had very specific ideas. Draco enjoyed his company in small increments.

"Please, sit down." Draco went behind his desk, as he wanted to intimidate the man into agreeing into extending the deadline. Sitting behind his desk lent him power. "Would you like some water, or tea, or perhaps something else?"

The Minister declined.

Draco coughed, pretending his throat was still sore from his illness. "You'll excuse me if I take some ice water, I hope? The Healers told me to stay hydrated."

They chatted about his sickness for a few minutes, Draco inserting comments about the amount of work he'd done in the past day, and the Minister growing more and more sympathetic.

Finally, Dupot cleared his throat. "It seems like you had a very tough battle, Mr. Malfoy. I wouldn't want to overwork your team; perhaps we could push the deadline one week?" One week was shit. Time to change his mind. Draco leaned forward and deliberately flicked his eyes to the door. The first time, nothing happened. The second, the Minister looked wary. The third time, Dupot actually turned around and gazed at his office door. "What is it?"

"Excuse me, Minister?"

"What were you looking at?"

Draco looked innocent. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Minister."

He looked over his shoulder suspiciously before returning to the conversation. "Do you think one week would be adequate?"

He let his eyes slide back to the door as he answered, "Due to the setback we received, I'm not sure, Minister. Our Ministry has been conducting searches on our staff and that has put as back at least two."

His eyes once again focused on the door. This was the smallest and simplest tactic he had up his sleeve, but also the one least likely to work. However, he enjoyed playing with people, and he was looking forward to unsettling the Minister. This trick was the oldest in the book. He smirked as the Minister looked behind him nervously. "Ah, your Ministry...very meddling, yes?"

"Very much so," Draco said non-committedly.

The Minister brushed his hands on his robes. Draco scratched his arm. Dupot spoke up again, "Mr. Malfoy, what do you suggest?"

"For the extension?" Draco wanted to smile. Right where he had him. "At least a month, Minister." Just for good measure, he looked at the door again. He was sure the Minister believed there were listening devices embedded in the hinges by now.

"Take a month and a half," Dupot said hastily, clearly wanting to escape before he said something that could be recorded and used against him. "It was excellent to meet you, Mr. Malfoy, but I have a meeting scheduled in half an hour." They stood and shook hands and all the typical end-of-meeting actions, before Dupot practically ran into the Floo. The door swung open to show Daphne standing there, along with Gabrielle, Nick, and another of his female employees: Joanne Lellins.

"Draco!" Gabrielle squealed. He ground his teeth; she was an excellent interior designer, but she grated on his nerves. "That was brilliant."

"Eavesdropping, Daph?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow. She was the only one who could have even made a tiny hole in his wards, a hole big enough for a single Extendable Ear to drop through.

Daphne laughed, loping an arm around his shoulder. She pulled him out of his office and into the "lobby," where his employees gathered around him. "You, sir," Daphne said playfully, "Got us a month and a half!"

"How'd you do it, Mr. Draco?" Nick leaned against the doorjamb. Draco smirked, noticing how it was an exact copy of his look.

"I'm the best, Nick," Draco said, grinning. "And by the way, you need to tilt your foot up to get the right effect."

Nick blushed, and Joanne nudged him. "Nice one, Mr. Draco, you made Mr. Stoic blush."

Draco had a sneaking suspicion that Joanne had a serious thing for Nick. This, he told himself, was the reason he gave her a teasing look and said, "I bet that's not the only thing to make him blush, Joanne." They sported identical flushes now, and Draco turned, still laughing, to see somebody standing in the doorway, looking at him with veiled shock. His face shut down immediately. "Mother."

Theo came up behind him. He put his hand on Draco's shoulder, appearing to give comfort, when instead sticking a piece of paper under his collar. Draco pretended to push off his hand, transferring the note into his hand and up his sleeve.

Narcissa's sharp eyes caught the note, he knew, but that was okay. Theo probably intended that to happen. Draco looked at his friend and quirked the left side of his mouth. Translation: Did you want her to see? Theo copied the movement before giving the tiniest shake of his head. Translation: Yes, but let her think she spotted something we didn't want her to see. If Narcissa caught this movement, she probably translated it as Theo telling Draco not to let her see the note.

"Draco."

He took the slightest step forward, and his employees gathered behind him. "How did you get up here?"

Her facial expression didn't change. "Your doorman was perfectly happy to let Draco Malfoy's mother see her son."

"My ex-doorman, you mean," he said. Daphne flicked her wand at a paper on her desk and it folded into a paper dragon, which breathed orange confetti over Narcissa as it zoomed through the door and presumably to the poor doorman.

Narcissa smiled warmly at Daphne. "That was an excellent spell, dear."

If Narcissa's smile ranked about five on a 1-10 scale of warmth, Daphne's was a negative sixty-three. "I learned it when I was six."

There was an awkward silence. Draco cut his eyes towards Daphne, who then turned to Nick, Joanne and Gabrielle. "We'll reconvene in thirty minutes in the room we used six days ago after lunch," Daphne said cryptically. As there was only one room the team preferred to use - seven in the entire building - this would be sufficiently obvious for them while slightly irritating for Narcissa. The three murmured goodbyes to Draco and left, Nick lingering the longest.

Passing by Draco, the ex-Durmstrang student muttered, "Shall I call security?"

"If she's not gone in precisely thirty-five minutes."

"Don't tell her anything."

Draco gave Nick an icy stare. "Don't presume to tell me what to do."

He gulped and hastily left, leaving only the quote-unquote "Silver Trio" and Mrs. Malfoy. The latter cleared her throat. "You look happy, son."

"I spoke to Vedette," he said, cutting to the chase as soon as Daphne nodded in confirmation that she and Theo had erected privacy wards.

She looked taken aback. "How did you convince the portraits to let you speak to her?"

He smirked, and told her arrogantly, "Mother, I'm afraid that you are out of touch with my intimidation tactics."

Theo snickered. Daphne smiled smugly. Narcissa didn't respond. "I can help you find your mate, Draco," she said softly. "I have discovered a very important spell to help you determine..."

"-That won't be necessary, I'm afraid," Daphne said, stepping slightly ahead, but not enough to overshadow Draco. "Theodore, Daphne, and I have already figured out our next step."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. He appreciated her stepping up, but that last sentence was entirely unneeded. He did _not_ condone her lying like that. He'd figured it out, and what she was doing now was akin to riding on his coattails. Theo took her arm and said flatly to Draco's mother, "Daphne and I must go add to our Cure research, we've almost made a breakthrough, can you believe it?"

Translation: We have a plan, go along with it.

Narcissa took a physical (and figurative, Draco supposed) step back. She didn't lose her composure, though, which he found slightly impressive. Years of being under Lucius' control had trained her well. Narcissa watched Draco's friends leave, and then turned cool eyes on him. "Your friends lie well."

He quite rudely turned his back on her, walking the short distance to his office. She followed him, which gave him the perfect opportunity to say, "I don't recall telling you to come."

"I don't recall telling you were were done talking, Draco. You are my son and I demand you treat me as such."

He clenched his teeth. "I don't consider you my mother, and I demand you treat me as such," he mocked, enjoying the hurt look she sported. To his dismay, her hurt didn't stop at a look. It continued with a tear and morphed until Draco was sitting across from a weeping woman.

Oh shit.

Seeing his mother cry brought back awful memories. _Her crumpled form, twitching on her floor, surrounded by blood, and the tears..._he remembered those tears. Those were the tears that drove him to join the fucking Dark Lord so that she wouldn't be tortured and brutally murdered. And now, the bloody woman was using them against him again.

"D-Draco," she sobbed. "I miss you so much!"

Oh, Merlin. He was sure this was a calculated display to tug on his heartstrings, whatever the hell those were, but it was still working. He wanted to _comfort_ her, and Draco Malfoy didn't do comfort. "Leave."

Narcissa glanced up, and the tears stopped. As if she were a Metamorphmagus, her facial expression instantly changed until her eyes were no longer red and her countenance showed nothing but icy disdain. "Draco, darling," she said sweetly, "You wouldn't want your mother to be seen unaccompanied outside of her son's company, on her way to a very important press release in the Ministry announcing her wonderful return to England, would you?"

He wanted to groan. The press would have a field day with that. The Malfoys, split apart! He would be blamed, he knew, judging from the amount of hate mail he received after Narcissa had fled to Italy, as if he'd driven her away. It was a tragic story: the mother, who lied in the face of danger to save her son, who then refused to associate with her. Even if he had threatened Jamie Callagher into not accepting bribes, he couldn't stop the man from commenting on something that was blatantly obvious. Draco thought his appearance over and said, "You go on without me. I will be there in precisely five minutes."

She smiled a smirk of somebody who knew she'd won. "Do try to look better, son; you're appearing rather ill."

Draco ground his teeth.

As soon as his mother left, he called in his friends. Only Theo appeared in his office, explaining to Draco's inquisitive look that Daphne was supervising a meeting.

"A meeting...why?" Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter. My mother has scheduled a press release to talk about why she came back to England."

Once upon a time, Theo's intellect had made him the subject of Slytherin's derisive mockery. Now, the Prince of that house was grateful for it, as he jumped past the tedious talking Daphne would have required from him. Theo whipped out his wand, and three minutes later saw Draco looking like the rich, attractive, single entrepreneur he knew he was. "Don't give any straight answers, look coolly confident, and smirk like you know something she - and everyone else - doesn't," Theo schooled, and Draco nodded.

"Veela?" Draco said sharply, not willing to waste any time.

"Only if you need to bring something out. If she mentions it, _Confundus_ the hell out of her and rush her to St. Mungos."

Draco laughed, and Apparated off before the confidence faded from his face. He appeared in front of the Ministry looking relaxed, still with hints of a smile playing on his face. The press started a commotion, but he ignored them and strode in. He spotted his mother immediately. She was talking with Minister Kingsley, laughing and looking completely calm.

"Mother," he said, walking up to her. He deftly avoided her attempts to kiss his cheek while masking it as an attempt to shake the Minister's hand.

"Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley said charitably. "It's excellent, though unexpected, to see you here."

He gave him a knowing smirk. "I was afraid I'd be thrown in jail due to another misinterpreted testing accident, Minister, I'm sure you understand."

There was a slightly awkward silence where Kingsley simultaneously flushed and cleared his throat multiple times. Narcissa tittered lightly and said, "Oh, Draco, our conference is almost about to begin."

She clearly intended him to follow her like a dutiful son, but he pretended to catch sight of somebody he'd met before - she'd commissioned a building, he knew, but Draco couldn't remember the name - and went over to say hello.

"Mr. Malfoy!" She was an odious woman, with messy brown hair and a distracted expression. "So wonderful to see you. My daughter loves her beach house, just loves it, she wrote me yesterday telling me how lovely it is, and can you guess what I said?"

Draco gave a self-assured smirk. "That of _course_ it's lovely; it came from _Sleeping Dragon_, didn't it?"

"Right in one, Mr. Malfoy!" The woman boomed. Draco was pleased to see that people were giving him interested looks as the woman - Mrs. Allis? Mrs. Allyion? Mrs. Al? - rhapsodized about the "darling shingles" and the "creamy tile floor" and the "ah-mazing view."

"I'm so glad you liked it, ma'am," Draco said graciously. "And I'd love to hear more, but my mother is waiting; I'm sure you understand."

Mrs. Whatever pouted like a young school girl denied - had she no class? - and said fake-sweetly, "But your beach house was so excellent, Mr. Malfoy, that I was thinking of getting one for Mr. Allian and I!"

Allian! As she said that, he remembered her first name was Barbara. "Oh, Mrs. Allian - may I call you Barbara?" He practically smoldered at her, and she giggled. Disgusting. She was a sixty year old woman. "Well, Barbara, I'd hate to keep my mother waiting, but how about you give me a Floo call and we'll talk?"

She agreed happily and he walked into the large room Narcissa had booked. They were all clearly waiting for him, and he smiled apologetically at his mother. "Oh, has this started already? I apologize, Mother, I was in the middle of business."

"That's my son," she said fondly, shooting him a secretly angry look. "Always working."

"Mr. Malfoy!" A reporter yelled rudely. "What do you have to say about your mother's return?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that how high-class press conferences are conducted these days? I'm sure out of the times."

The reporter blushed a lovely shade of red and sat down. Narcissa stifled a smile and led her son behind the microphones, and the two sat down next to each other looking like a matched set: same snowy features, identically grey eyes, and that platinum hair. Draco realized he was looking a little too smug and changed his expression so that he was looking slightly bored.

Narcissa cleared her throat. "As you all know, I recently returned from my five year visit to Italy and France. The Blacks have family there and I was researching..."

He tuned out his mother has she spoke about "revitalizing familial connections" and answered questions about her "wonderful journey." He was about to say he had an extremely important meeting and opt out when she said something that put him on guard. "While I was there," Narcissa revealed, "I discovered a very interesting relative of mine - V-"

"Vanessa Rosin," Draco interjected quickly. She was going to bring up Vedette! Like _hell_! "Vanessa was an amazing Potioneer, but unfortunately was sequestered away out of shame - she was a halfblood, see."

The reporters hummed in sympathy. One raised her hand. "Jenna Rose, from _Witch Weekly_. What do you have to say about the quote-unquote 'black sheep' in your family, Mr. Malfoy?"

He schooled his expression to be slightly derisive, as if the question didn't concern him. He was pleased to see the reporter's uncertain expression as she slowly lowered her hand. "I don't consider them black sheep, Ms. Rose, and such I have nothing to say."

If that wasn't a non-straight answer, nothing was. Narcissa shot him a reprimanding look. "Vanessa is certainly a fabulous example of the talent I discovered, but I was actually going to speak about - "

Draco was quick to interrupt again. "Oh, Mother, do let me tell this story."

She clenched her teeth. She couldn't very well not allow her son to speak. "_Certainly_, Draco."

Draco fabricated an account of yet another fake relative, capturing the reporters. He finished with a humorous ancedote that ensured he would be written about favorably in the majority of papers, and quickly followed that up with, "Mother and I would love to take questions now," before Narcissa could bring up Vedette.

"Mrs. Malfoy, why didn't you bring your son with you?"

_Yeah, Mother, I'd like to know that too_. Draco watched, face smooth, as his mother answered, "I'm afraid I was just, just, just driven mad with sadness after the unfortunate demise of my husband. I wasn't thinking properly."

He cast a subtle _Confundus _charm over their audience, hoping none of them would remember that answer. It was disgraceful. He had plans to turn this conference around to his side, and Narcissa garnering sympathy would not do.

"Mr. Malfoy, what do you have to say about that?" The _Daily Prophet_ reporter asked curiously.

Draco gave a smirk. "I was upset at the beginning, I assure you, but I had other priorities and I was quite busy building my highly successful empire."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. Only she caught the subtle insult buried in that sentence. He was basically screwing her over in front of the press. He was sure she would be pissed, but he was in control now.

**Saturday**

**1:01 PM**

_Malfoy's Mother: Forgiven or Forgotten?_

_by Jenna Rose_

_As a lucky observer at Narcissa Malfoy's surprise press conference yesterday, I was privy to news that would make Rita Skeeter roll over in her grave. As charmingly suave as I remembered him, Draco Malfoy exuded a relaxed air as he answered all questions smoothly as ever. His mother paled in comparison to the Malfoy heir, leaving no doubt in the minds of many that one of the most hated boys in the country has matured into a well-liked man._

_As I'm sure my readers know, Draco Malfoy was left an orphan in the year following The War, with a father driven insane by Dementors for war-crimes and a mother who abandoned him for her ancestral home. Mrs. Malfoy allegedly went to Italy and France to "revitalize important familial connections," but one must wonder why that merited abandoning the most important family connection a mother can have: her son. This reporter was lucky enough to have secured an interview with Mr. Malfoy when he was just seventeen._

_"I joined the Dark Lord to save my mother," he'd said then, with a face carved out of stone._

_While the blond pair certainly seemed happy at yesterday's release, I couldn't help but wonder whether Mrs. Malfoy's reintroduction to England's society was a welcome advancement or simply an intrusion. Draco's story from a scorned boy to a successful man is legendary (see '__A Dragon's Battle'__, Astoria Greengrass, Flourish & Blotts) and a tale to be told to all aspiring entrepreneurs._

_"Mr. Draco's a fabulous boss," Gabrielle Jenkins, an employee at _Sleeping Dragon Architecture Firm_, said. She was firmly backed up by Nicholas Brown. Mr. Brown was quick to add, "Whatever he might have done wrong when he was a kid, he'd gone past it. Him and Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott are more powerful than any Golden Trio."_

_Clearly, Draco Malfoy has everything sorted out. I believe the recent introduction of his mother, a woman he's never mentioned since, is more of a hindrance than a help. Only time will tell._

"I have to hand it to you, Draco," Daphne said, an amused smile playing on her lips. "When you launch an attack, you go all out. How on earth did you convince this Jenna Rose to write such an article?"

"It was horrible, truly," Draco mock-shuddered. He then leered at his female friend. "It involved careful seduction, not to mention ravishing her against a wall. Such a chore."

Theo snickered. "You shagged an article out of her? The Sex God strikes again!"

Draco preened. "I never stopped striking, Theo, and last night I struck Miss Rose quite a lot." He waggled his eyebrows playfully. "The pushy ones are always closet submissives."

"Ugh, Draco, honestly," Daphne pretended to retch. "Too much information. You enjoy these chores too much."

He turned serious in an instant. "Actually, it was quite hard," he admitted softly. "I kept feeling like I was betraying, well..."

"Your mate," completed Theo. "Understandable. You are not required to be faithful, but it will be rather hard to stray now that you have met face to face."

"I'm never going to get laid again."

"Good," Daphne said primly. "Penance for all the sleeping around you did at school."

He lifted his head, and gave her his most seductive look. "Oh, Daphne," he breathed huskily, and was pleased to see her immediately blush and shiver. He still had it. "How could I resist? They just threw themselves at me...I had to satisfy their needs. I'm sure you understand, Daphne, don't you? When needs become too much?" Both them knew that he was quoting her. As he'd thought she would, Daphne appeared torn between lust and anger and embarrassment, remembering the time after graduation when she'd tried to convince him to sleep with her when they were both drunk and horny. He'd resisted, but barely, and she hadn't looked at him for weeks.

He expected anger from her, but not from Theo, who clapped his back too hard to be accidental. Hmm. Was there a thing brewing between them? Daphne, who was still flushing a bright red, fled from the room to "straighten up."

"Not cool, mate," Theo immediately said. Draco gave him a suggestive look.

"Is there something, well, between you?"

His friend glowered. "No! Just...treat her with more respect than that, okay? She's not one of your slags."

"For your information, Theodore," he said icily. "I haven't gotten laid for something other than business since I turned twenty-two!"

His friend rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Hey, you have a second? I did have a plan with your mother, by the way."

"Let's hear it." Draco leaned back in anticipation.

Theo summoned a sheath of paper and held it out. Draco scanned it, and his eyes widened. "This is some seriously grey-level magic," he told Theo seriously. "And how the hell am I going to get her blood?"

"I don't know how else you'll find out who she is," Theo snapped back. "And it's not like you have a great aversion to black-level magic either, asshole."

He replied in kind. "I could just _Stupefy_ her and take a peek at her face before _Obliviating_ her, asshole."

"You could just _Stupefy_ her and take some of her blood before you _Obliviate_ her," Theo said sardonically. "Actually, just taking a peek at her face won't work, Dray."

He barely noticed the nickname. "And why not?" Draco flipped a page, still reading Theo's research. "And when did you have time to do this?"

"Us single men without mother problems have plenty of time," he said loftily. Theo glanced over at his friend, disappointed not to hear a laugh. Draco was too engrossed in the report. "Draco!" No response. Theo rolled his eyes and explained anyway: "You can't look at her, and she can't look at her, unless you are both aware of the situation and each other."

Draco proved he'd actually been listening all along by commenting, "Can we send her a package? With all our information?"

"We could try," Theo said, shrugging. "But honestly, that spell is the best shot. You'll know exactly who she is, and then we can plan off of that."

"But we need her blood, Theo," Draco snapped. "You know what? That's your problem. You get her blood and I'll get everything else." He meant it as a joke, but Theo stuck out his hand.

"Dealio," he said.

"Never say that again," Draco said, and the two friends shook on it.

**Sunday**

**9:00 AM**

Draco hadn't slept for approximately twenty seven hours.

It was a new personal record for him.

He felt refreshed as he crossed off "blood of the mother" off his ingredients list. Narcissa Malfoy still didn't know that the mosquito that bit her had actually been a transfigured Potions vial enchanted by Draco. He set the sealed bottle down on his desk. He'd gotten the blood and the hair off of a mandrake so far, which had spiced up his life just a little. He grinned, picturing Neville Longbottom's cry of despair when he realized that some of his precious mandrakes were missing large chunks of hair.

He heard a pinging noise that announced somebody was trying to come through the Floo. Expecting Daphne, he waved his hand, saying, "Open."

As he'd expected, a female presence appeared in his doorway. "Daphne, guess what..." He turned, only to see the blond head of his mother. "Oh, shit no."

"Language, Draco," Narcissa chided. She took a seat near his bookshelves and regarded him as if he were six again and was caught putting rat poison in his mother's _narcissus_ flowers. "I'm concerned the Veela situation isn't going well."

"Honestly, Mother, I did just fine without your concern for twenty years," Draco said, waving his hand dismissively, "Especially in the past five."

"Oh, harsh, son," Narcissa said sardonically. "Why don't you stab me when I'm down, while you're at it?"

"Why don't you _kick_ me when I'm down, Mother, get it straight."

"I was hoping for a bit more cordiality from my only son."

"Don't you dare try to turn this on me," Draco argued, throwing his quill childishly to the floor. His mother watched amusedly as Draco turned angry eyes onto the ruffled feathers, as if they had done him a great personal wronging by getting messed up. He accioed it back towards him and smoothed a finger over the bent vane, trying to fix the brown and white fluff. "Reparo. _Reparo_, dammit." The blue _Reparo_ spark traveled lazily down the shaft, dancing along the individual lines branching out, but they didn't straighten. Draco forgot about his mother, focusing completely on the quill in his hand. This wasn't just a feather, it represented life, his life, his inability to fix every last bend in his life-feather, even with magic...

_Draco Malfoy, get ahold of yourself_.

Narcissa Malfoy was now fighting a smile, as her son practically stared at the feather until his eyes watered. The first time she saw that look, he had been seven and completely convinced he could enchant his stuffed dragon to fly by sheer willpower. He'd looked at it meditatively, contemplatively, and then with a fierce determination that had brought a smile on her face that hadn't waned for days. He'd made it, too; he always had great potential for wandless magic. "Draco," she called softly, and he stared at her with a softer face than she'd seen since her return.

"What?"

"Why is there a vial for my blood on your dresser?"

He watched her face carefully, his own immediately shutting off. Was it a bluff? If Narcissa knew he'd taken her blood, that would certainly warrant her dropping in, but if she didn't, she just suspected. "Don't feel so flattered, Mother," he replied with an easy laugh. "It's not yours."

Her face relaxed marginally - she had been bluffing. "Just checking, son. Whose is it, then?"

"Mine."

She shook her head, tsking him. He clenched a fist under the table. "Really, Draco, how irresponsible, leaving it on your desk - "

"I think you've overstayed your welcome," Draco cut in.

This didn't faze her like he'd hope. Instead, she smiled wickedly and said, "Glad to see you admit I _had_ a welcome, then." She stood and stepped closer, stretching out a hand. It lay between them, and he stared at it: the perfectly manicured nails, a light silver; the faint glow suggesting she'd recently used her favorite magical hand cream; the slight callus on the underside of her thumb, coming from what, he wasn't sure. "Draco..." she whispered once more, and his head snapped up, eyes meeting her clear blue ones, so similar to his own grey-blue. He parted his lips, to ask what? He didn't have an answer to that, but it wasn't needed, as Narcissa touched his cheek, slightly, a barely discernible caress before she apparated out, her nails scratching the slightest imprint on his face.

What had _that_ been about?

**Sunday**

**11:46 AM**

**(Narcissa Black Malfoy's P.O.V)**

She sipped hot chamomile tea with a raised pinkie finger, and the painted figure of her ancestor did the same. She felt a smug sense of satisfaction as she did so, and the amused face of Vedette agreed with her. "He's suitably confused, yes?" The portrait asked, a smile playing around her gorgeously painted lips.

"Absolutely," Narcissa answered, taking a sip. Her return to England had not gone as smoothly as she wished; in all honesty, she had thought Draco would be more willing to reconcile. They were family, the last descendants of both the Malfoy and the Black family. That, if nothing else, should bring them together - Veela or no Veela. She supposed she deserved some derision, but Draco was being childish. How was she to stay in England when she was expelled from high society, her husband arrested and tortured to death by vengeful dementors, her son, so emotionless and cold he barely spoke to her. She was looked at with disdain and hatred, and her childhood friend - Alyssa Parkinson - snubbed her nose. Not to mention, Narcissa believed Draco may be the first male Veela in recorded history, and she needed to check that. Draco should have understood.

Vedette gave a musical sigh. "Have you spoken to him about the article?"

She smirked in triumph. "I managed to procure pictures of him and that Rose girl engaged in intimate relations, dated the day before the article was submitted for consideration. I took it upon myself to visit the editor-in-chief of _Witch Weekly_, and he's fired the girl; he's to release a public statement apologizing for the article any day."

The portrait laughed. "Brilliant, dear."

"Thank you." She loved her son greatly, and it hurt her to battle him. But, he needed to re-accept her into the family, and society needed to do the same. She had much to tell him. Being the first male Veela could have disastrous results if he didn't find his mate; and she knew exactly who this mate would be. Hermione Granger wasn't the best choice, but she was a successful and compassionate woman, and would have to do. "Any news on their potion?"

"Draco discussed it with me," Vedette said, "And they are having trouble obtaining Hermione's blood. They do not know who she is."

"Naturally. Will he turn to me soon?"

Slyly, "Any day now."

Narcissa put her cup down with a clink, summoning a house elf. He popped away and returned with writing materials: a Dicta-quill and creamy Muggle paper that she'd enchanted. She didn't tell anyone the origin of the paper, but used it for its luxurious texture and uniqueness.

"Quill, write," she ordered, and the utensils leaped into the air, hovering in front of her. "Dear Ms. Granger, I have urgent matters to speak of with you.."

While she waited for a reply, Vedette cast a sly glance at her relative. "Who's Teddy?" The Veela asked innocently.

"Andromeda - she's my sister - he's her grandson," Narcissa replied absently. "Draco's cousin."

"Is he a sweet child?"

Narcissa stiffened. "I wouldn't know," she said icily, her tone making it very clear this was not a subject to be expounded upon. She hadn't talked to her sister in _years_, let alone the Metamorphmagus-werewolf hybrid of a child.

"Why not?"

"Nymphadora Tonks - Metamorphmagus - had a kid with a werewolf," she said in disgust. "That's Teddy. Then both of them got themselves killed. _Harry Potter_ is the godfather."

Vedette cast a sly look at the other woman. "It would be a great political move. Narcissa. Imagine, reconciling with your sister, and hopefully endearing your nephew to you, in one grand swoop! Maybe you'll even be photographed together. It could make footlines."

Narcissa, despite herself, smiled a little. She forgot that Vedette was from centuries ago, sometimes. "Headlines, Vedette, and I suppose it _would_ anger my son."

Narcissa stood abruptly at the thought, not wasting a glance to check her appearance. She knew it'd be fabulous. It always was. She disapparated, not bothering to picture where she was going; Narcissa knew her destination by heart. It was where Andy used to sneak off during the summer to meet with Ted, and where Narcissa would follow stealthily to spy for Bella. It had seemed a perfect summer, the one before anything awful had happened. Bella was still friendly and gorgeous and wickedly rebellious, boys were sending her secret owls, she'd learned of her heritage and felt special, pretty, like her one true love was sitting around the corner, ready to whisk her away on his broomstick to a mansion. That had been the summer she'd been on top of the world, before she had leaned too far one side and her entire life had toppled.

Shaking such melancholy thoughts from her head, she looked around her surroundings. She bit a lip - an uncharacteristically vulgar move - as she spotted a very familiar maple tree, its branches spreading wider and more majestically than she'd remembered, but nearly the same nonetheless. She looked around her, and noticed many people staring at her witches robes.

"Hey, lady," one little boy said, speeding around on a kid's bike. "Why you dressed up?"

"I'm an entertainer," she said sarcastically, but his eyes lit up and he proclaimed her 'cool' before blushing and biking away. She groaned to herself silently, flicking her wand into her hand, hiding it against her leg. Narcissa cast a very light Notice-Me-Not charm on herself - not strong enough to alert Ministry wards, but powerful enough that nobody noticed when she magicked her clothes to look Muggle. She walked quietly to the three that caught her attention and knelt.

Brushing away dirt, she trailed her finger along the cracked bark before she noticed what she was looking for. _AB_, she read, and traced the cracked letters with her index finger. _AB + TT = 3_

Andy had always loved math.

Narcissa remembered watching her sister carve this into the bark with her wand. After she'd left, the blond girl had crept up to the equation and puzzled over it for hours. It didn't make sense to her, back then, why Andy would publicly announce her relationship with the Muggleborn. It had seemed impossible, improbable, and what did "less than three" even _mean?_ Narcissa smiled sadly to herself, remembering how she'd confronted her sister, who'd told her to look at it from a different perspective. She was sure that Andy hadn't meant to literally turn her head to make it a heart, but that's what Narcissa had done, and that's what she did now.

**Monday**

**12:00 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Draco frowned.

The potion was a frothy green. It should be a calm, pale blue color - the color of the Veela bond - and definitely not bubbling like crazy. He wiped his still-bleeding lip against the hand cloth next to his potions station and looked up at a musing Vedette. "What do you think, then?" Draco asked the painting, which he had moved to his office - one at _Dragon_ and one at his home - the day after they had first spoken. She was usually moving in between those two locations, but sometimes she disappeared. To where, he had no clue, but she had hinted the location had to do with his - their - ancestors. Italy or France, then.

Vedette cocked her head. "It's hard to tell," she said, her voice taking on the slightest bit of a British accent. Draco, who secretly loved to hear her sing-song Italian, hoped it would go away, and quickly. He did not appreciate her changing her voice. "I think the blood Nott obtained was not from your mate."

"Fetch him, he's at _Dragon_," Draco ordered, stirring the potion cautiously.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up impatiently. "Fetch him, Vedette, tell him I need him right now."

Vedette's painted eyebrow rose. The image of the twenty-something year old radiated disapproval. "_Potere_," she said sternly. Draco winced at the sound of his Italian name. It sounded silly, fake, when he was so used to 'Malfoy' being said (usually with contempt, fear, respect, or all) or 'Draco' by his closest friends. Potere was foreign, and he hated to respond to it. She continued, "That is not how you speak to me."

He gave a firm stir before dropping his ladle on the sparkling clean work table with a clang. "Excuse me," he parroted, his voice full of authority. "Let's get this straight, Vedette. You are a portrait. You are dead. I am the heir of both the Malfoy and the Black houses. I am alive. I could have your portrait stilled with a work. You are in no position to tell me to do anything." Draco stared her down. Something about his speech - the strong words, maybe, the tone infused with confidence, or even how his nose rose ever-so-slightly when he addressed her - something about it made her mouth shut audibly.

"You may be a Malfoy," she finally said a beat or two later. "And a Black. I am a Rossi, Potere, and I am your ancestor. I have lived in this portrait for years and years. I have much wisdom."

"The Rossi line died with you," he sneered, sitting back down on his padded swivel stool. "Which, as pureblood law dictates, means it is carried down through the Veelas in the family. You know the Burbousis', I presume?"

Vedette clenched her teeth, but did her best to project an image of haughty coolness. "I haven't concerned myself with them, no."

Draco smirked at her tone. "Really, Vedette," he said condescendingly, "Their great-great-times four grandmother was infected with the werewolf gene years ago, and the line died with her; however, Violet Burbousis recently re-claimed the line, citing this same law, as she is the only current female in that family that genetically carries the werewolf gene. Important allies to have."

"I suppose," she shot back with deliberate enunciation. "You didn't realize that you are, in fact, not the sole heir of the Rossi line unless you claim the line and pass blood tests?"

Damn. He wasn't the sole heir? He covered his lack of knowledge by smirking secretly. "Ah, Vedette," he said, shaking his head as if he knew something she didn't. "The results should be coming in any day now, and I will be the most influential man this side of Europe. Now, _go_ fetch Theo before I burn your frame and you in it."

She huffed and flounced out of the frame, showing her childish side for one of the first times since he'd 'met' her. Draco allowed himself a triumphant smile and returned his attention to the cauldron. He still got it.


	5. Chapter 4: Finally!

**Tuesday**

**12:00 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

The girl stared at the sky.

She stared at the inky depths as if held the answer to her problems. For somebody used to always having solutions, this ignorance was picking at her, cutting at her, eating her up from the inside as she searched furiously every day for a reason.

She'd gone on a date tonight. Yes, Hermione Granger was quite the serial dater. Not out of like for the lifestyle, but out of desperation. Padma and Ginny, who shared a friendly hatred (as in, they were friends who fought constantly for fun), were ruthless when they put aside their hatred to decide on one thing: her life was "just plain sad and lonely" (Ginevra Weasley on that one). She'd been on so many dates, some with figurative blindfolds pressed firmly over her mascara-coated eyelashes, and some where she regretted agreeing before she'd even gotten out of the shower.

Hermione had met some great people in these dates, admittedly. There was the Muggle with whom she'd had a fascinating discussion about the psychology behind language; the Hufflepuff that had promised to endorse her struggling business; the American wizard who she'd encouraged to speak, if only to listen to his accent with a bubbling pleasure in her stomach; and, tonight, Anthony Goldstein.

This had been Padma's idea. Anthony and her had been a _thing_ back during the school days. They'd broken up before the week was up simply because it "wasn't right." Still, Padma maintained he was an intelligent boy that was really quite sweet, and Hermione should "give it a go" because they both knew he "won't try to get into your pants, Mi, really." She'd slipped into a slinky black dress regretfully, brushed out her hair and styled it uneasily, let Ginny apply makeup flinchingly, and arrived at the gaudy restaurant already wanting to go home.

The date had gone splendidly.

A smile came to her face as she remembered how he'd taken one look at her, whistled, and told her, "Girl, there's no way we're eating _here_ with you looking like _that_." He'd winked at her, put a gentlemanly hand around her shoulders, and whisked them both away to a nice restaurant that she'd only read about in the papers, with the air of somebody who looked at the enclosed pictures hungrily, knowing she'd never afford the place.

_"Really, the other place is excellent,"_ she'd protested, not wanting him to a) spend lots of money on her when she wasn't even planning to kiss him and b) brag about said money.

"_Hermione, I worked here for a while after school, I have a __lot__ of coupons,"_ he'd answered playfully. By the way the cook had greeted him when they'd laughingly snuck through the back door, she didn't doubt the story. They'd spent an enjoyable dinner in the kitchen, throwing flour at each other and watching the chefs cook with awe.

He'd walked her home, and then it had happened. This moment had occurred with many other men (not to imply sluttiness, for Hermione Granger would never risk promiscuity). He leaned in for a kiss, she suddenly felt an urge to throw up that was quite contradictory with her admiration for his soft-looking lips she had been partaking in only moments before, he closed his eyes, and a second later found himself kissing air with the kissee a couple feet away.

She didn't know how it happened, but every time she tried to kiss a boy - kiss, dammit, a goddamn light peck - she found herself flying to the side. Anthony had responded predictably: first with confusion, then with dawning anger, and the kind of self-righteousness that spawned from the belief that she had moved purposefully and led him on the entire night. He'd apparated away without so much as a by-your-leave.

Hermione's groan was loud in the stillness. Really, it just wasn't _fair!_ She didn't believe in love in first sight, or soul mates, or any ridiculous beliefs invented by singles who wanted to console their lack of ability to land a boy/girlfriend, but the notion was rapidly growing on her. "I don't _want_ a boyfriend!" Hermione cried out, glad for the Silencing spell she'd cast upon her arrival. "I sound like a bloody sixth year, now," the twenty-three year old huffed to herself. "Whining about boys and talking to myself. Ridiculous. I am an empowered woman, dammit! My work saves thousands of kids and adults! Why the hell am I wasting my time with _boys_?"

She could just imagine Ginny's suggestive look and Padma's stifled grin. It did nothing to help her temper.

"Boys are dangerous, anyhow," she grumbled, sitting down on the cool bench. "Why, I could recite statistics until I was blue in the face! One in four women experience domestic violence in her lifetime. Do I _want_ to be one of 1.3 million girls who get assaulted by their intimate partner? No, thank you."

She was being unfair, she knew this in the rational part of her brain that wasn't often subdued. Men suffered too - wasn't her latest project a poor boy that had been hit by his sadistic girlfriend? She'd certainly spent enough hours diverting time from her failing business to help him. "Shut up, mind," she implored herself. That was the problem with being Hermione Granger. Her mind never stopped working. She'd begun talking to herself at age ten, when she'd puzzle through both moral and intellectual problems out loud until she hit upon a solution. _Crazy-talk_, the girls at her Muggle primary school had called it. She'd suppressed the urge as she got older, presenting a façade of somebody always in control. She hadn't sworn audibly in forever, instead releasing her 'potty mouth' in the privacy of her head.

"Can't I dwell in self pity for _one_ night?" Hermione asked the round moon. "After all, females 20-24 years old are the greatest risk of - of - of nonfatal intimate partner violence!" She forced the term out. It was getting steadily harder to recite statistics like this. It only made her realize how childish she was being. Why was she bemoaning the loss of a male presence in her life when there were people going through so much?

Her cell vibrated softly. Hermione grabbed the Muggle object out of her pocket, sliding her finger across the screen to answer the call. "What, Padma?"

"How'd you know it was me?" Padma joked. Hermione didn't designate that with a reply. Both of them were well adept at using Muggle technology; it was a necessity while doubling up at the Muggle uni they'd attended. It was a common phrase for the two of them to use, mocking their society's inability to use something as simple as a phone. Hermione was an iPhone sort of girl herself, taking advantage of the great amount of organizational apps to schedule her life, while Padma preferred a sliding phone because, according to her, "I like to use my phone with dirty hands, and what, am I supposed to wipe _palak paneer_ all over the screen?"

"Why are you calling, Pads?"

"So, how's the date? I was hoping to catch you either on your house phone - which you didn't pick up - or sounding all breathless on your cell, meaning you and Tony had really hit it off." The suggestive lilt of the Indian girl's voice made Hermione sigh.

"I wish, Pads, I really do," she admitted. "I mean, I'm not going to _sleep_ with him on the first date - "

"Well, duh, that's a _tad_ desperate," came an agreement.

"Anyway, but I wouldn't be adverse to kissing him, he really was quite handsome," Hermione said. She wouldn't have admitted this to anyone else - Hermione Jean Granger did not disclose desires to engage in lecherous acts with men - but Padma knew her well, and she trusted the other girl. "It happened again."

The groan crackled over the connection. "Oh, Mione," Padma said melodramatically. "I'm telling you, it's Ron making sure you won't kiss any man but him!"

"We broke up five years ago. We're best friends."

"Still - hey, Ginny wants to conference call, nay or aye?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure." She heard a beep and Ginny's overenthusiastic greeting, before continuing her story. "Ron's going out with Alicia, anyway. Which I completely approve of. But anyway, this definitely started happening a year ago...after Malfoy's birthday party, remember? I swear somebody hexed me there, or slipped a potion into my drink, or something."

"Your sparkling apple juice, you mean? That does not constitute a drink, Mione..." That was Ginny. Who believed drinking anything but alcohol at a party was a sin, instead of the other way around. "I assume Goldstein didn't go over well, then?"

Padma: "Definitely not."

Hermione, bored with the conversation: "You guys, I was really enjoying wallowing in self pity over here..."

A laugh that only could have belonged to a redheaded Ginny Weasley spilled out of the phone. "In that creepy park? Mi, I'm definitely coming to get you."

"Ditto!" Padma rushed out, and then Hermione was left staring at a buzzing phone. She turned it off and slipped it back into her pocket. Irritating, annoying friends!

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday<strong>

**12:45 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

What was she doing? She definitely had a Silencing spell up, one that he could not, for the life of him, break. It was infuriating. She had started to have a conversation on a...telly? No, that was the box. Phone. Yes. That was it. A cellphone. Draco supposed the conversation was over, and she was heading home, when suddenly two other figures appeared in the park.

He stumbled backwards and crashed down, tripping over a log in his surprise. He would recognize those two anywhere. Flaming red hair...that had to be Weaselette. The other one he knew entirely too well, seeing as his sordid relationship with her sister had ended the twins' communication for a year and a half. Padma Patil and Ginny Weasley. He watched, heart racing, as the Weasley gave his mate a restrictive hug.

Patil was definitely laughing as his mate tried half-heartedly to fight back. He closed his eyes in an effort to concentrate; from his mate, he felt a large amount of annoyance, and a kind of grudging happiness. It was the emotion he felt when Theo or Daphne were butting into his business and refusing to let him wallow by himself. He wanted them to shut up because it was irritating him, but at the same time he didn't want them to stop: it was nice, sometimes, to have somebody who cared for you enough to not listen to a word you said.

So, it wasn't abduction, then. His grip on his wand loosened slightly, now that he knew he wouldn't have to go charging in to save his mate. He tried to peek around Patil's body, hoping to see his mate's face, but to no avail. Draco was beginning to think Theo was right, and the curse prevented him from seeing his mate's face if he didn't know her name. He'd circled the park multiple times tonight, trying for different angles to see her face, and she just happened to lean back into shadows or turn her profile sideways at the exact moment he looked. Infuriating.

He watched as Weaselette and Patil disapparated with his mate, before he too left the empty park, his mind buzzing. He reappeared in his penthouse, where he sat at his desk. He pulled out a sheet of parchment where he was accumulating information about his mate to help him find out her identity.

_Mate:_

_-Brown hair _

_-Witch (probably halfblood or Muggleborn, or somebody who likes to shop at Muggle grocery stores)_

_-Punctual (has rituals)_

That was it, so far. He added:

-_Friends with Ginny Weasley and Padma Patil_

_-Uses a cellphone (not a pureblood, probably)_

Oh, no. No no no. This was lining up too perfectly for it to be mere coincidence. He refused to let that thought line up in his head, put a wedge in his mind before he could acknowledge the connection. It had to be somebody else!

He went over to his filing cabinet, tapping the drawer labeled 'School (Students)' with his wand. "Padma Patil and Ginevra Weasley," he spoke loudly. "Complete file."

His desk glowed green, and a second later two stacks of paper - one larger than the other - appeared on his desk. He seated himself and pulled the smaller towards him. Padma Patil. He flipped past pictures of her in varying states, from the Hogwarts Yearbook pictures to a small, but pretty, picture of her that had been in the Daily Prophet. He skipped most of the General Information, highlighting his attention on "relationships." He wasn't a stalker, or anything like that, who actively pursued information to file. A handy spell his godfather had taught him resulted in his complicatedly organized system, where any public information about the person was automatically compiled and filed. He had some private information on people, but only those he deemed a high priority - Harry Potter, for example, or his father's Death Eater friends. Patil's file was slightly larger than most of his school acquaintances simply because he'd fucked her prissy twin for a couple of months.

_Relationships_...he pursued the subheading that should read '_Friends_.' Okay. Friends..."Sort," he ordered the file. "Sex: female. Appearance: brown hair."

There was a list of sixteen brunette women that Padma Patil was publicly friends with. He took Ginerva's file and repeated the procedure, matching up the pictures. He was left with two names of brunettes that were friends with both women.

One: Katie Bell.

Two: Hermione Granger.

ShitshitshitshitshitFUCK.

"Katie Bell, find file," he said hurriedly, tripping over his words. "Faster, damn it!"

_Please let her be single, please let her be single...anyone's better than Granger._

He grabbed her file and scanned past the picture of her laughing face in her Holyhead Harpies Quidditch suit. "Single, single - goddammit!"

He let the file flutter to the floor, contemplating suicide, for Katie Bell was happily married to Oliver Wood and had a young son, Eddie. Mates couldn't marry people other than the Veela. Veelas could marry whomever the shit they wanted, as long as they were willing to deal with the consequences, but mates could not. Ever.

"Hermione Granger. Bloody fucking hell."

He grabbed a handful of emerald powder, flicking it into the fireplace. Correction: he _tried_ to flick it into the fireplace, but only succeeded splattering Floo Powder all over his expensive carpet. Cursing, Draco summoned the powder back to him and tried again. First Granger was his mate, and now he couldn't even put damn powder in the damn Floo...

Five attempts later, a slightly grimy handful of Floo Powder landed squarely in the middle of the fireplace. Yes! All the grains went in! Draco prepared to Floo his friends, but groaned as he realised there was no fire. He reluctantly summoned the grains and with an "Incendio!" tried again.

The majority of the powder went in after he employed a stylish flick of the wrist. Draco chose to ignore the few grains scattered on the wood in between his carpet and the fireplace in favor of saying, "Daphne Greengrass."

The green flames swirled between several colors before Daphne's head appeared in the flames. He raised his eyebrows as her perfect appearance melted right off her the moment her image stabilized, leaving a crabby face with bags under the eyes and a strange sheen to the over-moisturized skin. His wards prevented against any appearance-concealing charms.

"Oh, shut up, Draco," the girl huffed. "I was preparing for my beauty sleep. Do you realize it's nearly one thirty in the morning, and we have to go to work tomorrow? Really, your attendance and dedication has been spotty of late..."

"It's my damn company, Daphne," he replied acidly, the words 'Hermione Granger is mate' on the tip of his tongue. Shit. How was he supposed to do this? Maybe he wouldn't tell her... "I can do whatever the hell I want with it."

His mate was miles away and still causing mental dilemmas. He had to tell her. Daphne would murder him if he withheld information as precious as _this_. Daphne rolled her green-blue eyes expressively. "Yes, but you _do_ have people relying on their employment, and after all the work I did to convince that idiot that's my younger sister to write the book on you, I'd appreciate it if you at least _maintained_ the image that you are responsible."

"You are rather verbose in the wee hours of the morning," he observed sardonically.

"Never say 'the wee hours of the morning' ever again."

He laughed, remembering why he was friends with the sharp woman. "Touché, Daph, touché. You're busy, then?"

"Yes, trying to sleep, but tell me what you've discovered then, if you're so eager."

"What a welcoming invitation," he shot back. He looked shiftily over. "I know who my mate is."

Daphne looked like she wanted to shriek. "Let's hear it, then!"

"Hermione Granger." He watched her reaction carefully.

Her face dropped, she looked shell shocked, but she only said, "You don't look surprised at all."

"I feel surprised, damn straight I do, but at the same time..." Draco grimaced. "It's like the bond is making me feel happy."

"Oh, hell no," Daphne said, with feeling. He grinned. Draco enjoyed Daphne's company even more when she let down her hair, so to speak, something she only did in the presence of Draco and Theo. "Budge up, I'm coming through."

A second later, she appeared through the Floo. "Call Theo, would you?"

"You call him," he shot back.

"It's your Floo."

"You're making demands of _me_."

"Rock-parchment-quill?"

They prepared for battle. Draco watched her face very carefully, knowing she was doing the same for him. 72.7% of the time, she did quill first, while he preferred rock. She probably would try parchment, then, which meant he should cast quill...although, that left a possibility that she would do rock just to trick him. He puzzled over this for a quick second...knowing Daphne, she would double-bluff him, shooting quill just because she knew he would think about it. But, would she triple-bluff him and go with parchment because she knew what he was thinking?

"Rock, parchment, quill, cast!" Daphne said, and immediately held up one pointer finger at the same time he made a fist.

He smirked, crushing her quill with entirely too much pleasure. "I believe that makes our running total, twenty-seven, me, sixteen, you?"

"No, we reset last week," she countered. "That makes it four for you, and one for me. Two out of three, Draco?"

He recalculated the odds. Quill was out. Daphne _never_ did a losing move twice. She pounded a fist against her palm at an angle, as if she were preparing to flatten her hand to parchment. He quickly stuck one finger out as his suspicions proved correct. "Five for me, one for you, now call the lover boy and tell him to get his arse over here."

Her cheeks flushed gently. "I do _not_ fancy Theo," she said fiercely.

"Yes, you do," he accused.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"Liar."

He smirked at her, and her blush deepened. "Who do you fancy, then?"

"What is this, fourth year?" She answered immediately. "Let me just fetch Theo, Draco, honestly. You're being childish."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday<strong>

**1:15 AM**

**(Daphne Greengrass' P.O.V)**

She turned her back on Draco, trying to control her blush. Dammit! She had better facial circulation than _that._ Honestly, she had to get her act together. It was hard, sometimes, being so close to two such fanciable men. She'd had a crush on Draco since she was fourteen and he arrived at the Yule Ball looking extremely delectable in silver robes, a handsomely bored look on his face the entire time. Theo, on the other hand, was sweet in a way Draco could never accomplish. He made her laugh, and, she wasn't going to lie - the first time she saw him shirtless, she was breathless.

It was infuriating.

Draco was out, anyway. There was no way he'd ever fancy her, not now that his _mate_ was in the picture. The stupid women! She didn't know him. She didn't know how he crinkled his nose unconsciously when he was displeased, or how a pulse ticked in his jaw when he was _mad_. She didn't know how his eyes seemed to go greyer when he was focused intensely, and more blue when he was laughing. His mate didn't know _anything_ she knew about him. Bloody Hermione 'The Swot' Granger!

Theo, well, she didn't want to talk about. The bloody man had skipped out on crushes during their school years, trading in girls for academics, and seemed to never recover from that. She couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at a girl with interest. He'd never even had a girlfriend!

_Was he gay?_

"Daphne, what_ are_ you thinking about?" Draco interrupted her thoughts.

"Is Theo gay?" She blurted out, before flushing deeply. "I mean..." Daphne trailed off, smoothing her skirt and patting down her hair to hide her embarrassment. Draco started laughing. And didn't stop. She stared at him, nonplussed, as he cracked up, holding his desk for support. What in Merlin's name was so funny? "Draco!"

"Oh, I love you sometimes, Daph," Draco revealed, still laughing to himself. She put on a skeptical face, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. Oh, he looked so good, with mussed hair and laughter lining his too-stern face.

She said primly, "You better. What's so funny?"

"If only you knew..."

The bloody prat. Draco had loved secrets for as long as she remembered. "Tell me," she ordered.

"I can't..." Still chuckling to himself, he took a handful of Floo powder and flicked into the fireplace with a move that was entirely too effortlessly cool. How was it fair that he could just look so...suave, doing something like throwing Floo powder directly into the fireplace? She couldn't do that, unless she wasted half of her powder _practicing_. Draco had it all, sometimes.

_Except his mother is a selfish bitch and his father was an insane megalomaniac who tortured him. _

She shook these thoughts from her head, only to see a decidedly grumpy Theodore Nott climbing through the Floo. "Bloody hell," he said huskily, massaging his throat. "Is this a slumber party?"

"Oh, definitely," Daphne chirped, feeling better about her messy appearance at the sight of her other best friend. Theo's curly hair was frizzing up around his head, his glasses askew. Her gaze traveled down his body...he was wearing a blue plaid bathrobe, but underneath it she glimpsed blue boxers and a delectably bare chest. Catching her watching, he yanked the robe around himself.

_Daphne Greengrass, you're acting like a randy sixth year. Control your hormones!_

"Looking good, Greengrass," Theodore said, with a significant look at her greasy face. She stuck her tongue out at him and checked her watch.

"Merlin, it's past time to wash this off!" Without a by-your-leave, she fled to the nearest bathroom. She wasn't anyway near the vanity of Pansy Parkinson, but she did have an extensive self-care regime. It was hard being the sole female in a trio. She wasn't going to handle it like Granger used to; when you're the only girl, people looked at you scrutinising. Granger glomped around with toilet-brush hair and spotty skin. Sure, now she'd cut her hair so it was flattering, and her skin was much clearer now, so that Daphne had to admit she was pretty in a plain way. Daphne, on the other hand, looked picture-perfect whenever she was in public. Unfortunately, to achieve this affect, she had to use her nights to exfoliate.

After scrubbing her face and brushing her hair into two side braids, so tomorrow she'd have bouncy, curly hair, Daphne looked at her image. "Very cute," the mirror assured her. "Pretty without makeup."

Daphne smiled charmingly, thanked the mirror, and returned. Naturally, the boys were sitting in the study, tossing back shots of brandy. She summoned one to herself, taking a dainty sip. Finding it satisfactory, Daphne downed the entire thing, much to the amusement of her men.

_The men. Not my men._

"Nice going, Daph," Theo said, predictably the first to speak up. "You're almost a man now."

"Going for a _Heidi_ look there with the braids?" was Draco's contribution.

She grimaced. Heidi was a vapid story of a Squib that had been greatly embellished for Muggles. In reality, Heidi had been brunette who slept around so much she was sent to live with her strict grandfather. Daphne wasn't sure how the blond, orphan version originated. "You can be my first victim," she replied flirtily.

Theo choked.

Draco found this amusing.

Daphne sat down on the leather chair next to Theo and regarded them with raised eyebrows. "Have you shared the news yet, then?"

"It's Granger, isn't it?"

Draco spluttered. "How the bloody hell did you know?"

Daphne rolled her eyes as Theo leaned back, looking infuriatingly superior. "Oh, it's fairly obvious," he said loftily, "Considering the factors. And let's face it, Draco, she _was_ the only girl that used to rile you up back in school."

This was true. Daphne could hardly count how many times Draco, incensed by whatever she'd done now, had paced the Common Room, loudly proclaiming his hatred for the "filthy Mudblood."

"She's bloody Muggleborn! Our kids would be half!'

"Don't pretend you care about those things," Daphne said sharply. Much as she had to agree with Granger's unsuitability, she'd lived through one war about blood and wasn't about to let Draco mouth off. "You sound ridiculous."

Draco sneered angrily, his face closing off. So childish. "Hermione Fucking Granger!"

Daphne crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. "Draco," she said slowly, with the immobility of someone who knows their next words won't be received well. "What do you think about the match?"

To her surprise, he downed a shot before saying softly, "My bond thinks it's a great idea." Without prompting, he continued, "But it doesn't matter what I think, does it? I know it's true. I can feel it."

* * *

><p><strong>(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)<strong>

He could feel it. He could feel it in every fiber of his being, from his hair to the nails on his feet. He felt a strange thrumming warring with a pull so strong he felt as if he'd fly across the floor. When he closed his eyes to blink and held them closed, he felt irritation and begrudging happiness so clearly he almost thought _he_ was feeling those emotions.

No. It was her.

He felt her, felt her sitting at a table, maybe, felt her thinking how ridiculous this entire endeavor was. He felt her better than he felt himself, as if every part of him was focused intently on this one glowing dot he could see faintly ahead. He knew without a doubt that, if he wanted, he could apparate to Granger no matter where she was in the world.

Dammit.

As soon as he'd read the words on the paper, he'd felt a shift. Cliché as that was, Draco had immediately felt a growing sense of urgency. With horror, he recalled a passage he'd read during one of his woe-is-me drunk nights:

_Upon discerning her mate's identity, the Veela is immediately prompted to consummate the bond. While the time varies from person to person, a pattern has been found: consummation before the next new moon is vital. If this does not happen, the Veela will be brought under the curse upon the dawning of the next day._

"Theo," he blurted out, "When is the next new moon?"

Theo looked surprised. "Um..." He calculated intensely. "Seven days."

He had seven days to seduce Hermione Granger.

Shit shit shit!

"Tell her she's your mate," Daphne said instantly, reading his mind like usual. "Tomorrow. That gives her a couple days to research before she accepts it as fact."

"No," Theo rebutted instantly. "Seduce her naturally, and then tell her she's your mate."

Daphne looked angrily at Theo, Draco just watching the pair wearily. "No, are you crazy? She'll feel used."

"Your way might leave Draco like Bellatrix Lestrange!"

_What would Granger do?_

Draco considered this. If he seduced her - pretty damn impossible in such a limited time - she'd feel jilted and used and would never speak to him again. If he told her, she'd go off in a research craze, but ultimately do the right thing.

"I think I'll tell her," he said, the words falling from his lips with hesitation.

Daphne and Theo shared a look, but didn't mention anything. Now was not the right time to argue. Instead, Daphne said carefully, "Are you to tell your mother?"

"No," he said softly. "Not until the bond is consummated."

Theo's grin came quickly, "Imagine, our Dray having sex with Granger. I bet she's wild."

"Don't try to be crude, Theo, it doesn't become you." Daphne sniffed.

Draco poured about half the damn bottle in his shot glass after enlarging it, feeling the alcohol slither down his throat. He was taking this calmly, but he felt a freak out lurking at the edges, threatening to overwhelm him. Only when he was alone would Draco truly have a fit.

"I say we have another drink," Theo suggested, probably seeing how Draco cradled his glass.

Daphne opened her mouth to protest, then shrugged and snatched the bottle right out of Theo's hand. "Cheers."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday<strong>

**9:01 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He came to, sprawled over a leather chair, sticky with the residue of last night's drink...that is, the residue of a few last night drinks. Draco wiped his eyes and yawned, stretching, only to curl back into a ball as his head throbbed, threatening to explode.

"Fucking hell," Draco whimpe-er, that is, he whispered. Draco never whimpered; it was a distasteful thing to do. "What the bloody hell?"

"You said 'hell' twice," came Daphne's voice from somewhere over there. He heard a drawn-out groan. "Aw, shit, I feel like - "

"I just fought a few dozen Mountain Trolls," Theo interjected. "Merlin, when I suggested a drink, I did _not_ mean 'let's get piss-roaring drunk'."

"What time is it?"

"TOPSY! Er, Tippy! Dammit, Tipsy!" Draco hollered, cursing his inability to remember a damn _name_. A pop answered him.

"Master Draco," said Tipsy. Draco glared at the elf with one blurry eye, sure he was hearing a hint of humor in the creature's voice. "What is it that you require? A Hangover potion?"

"Three of 'em," Theo chimed in. "And the time?"

"Two minutes past nine in the morning, Master Theo," the short elf recited dutifully, knowing Draco was _very_ particular about the time. Saying 'nine,' for example, was cause for a telling off, even if it was simply 9:02.

The trio's responses were predictable. Daphne started with an obvious comment, related to work: "We're late."

Draco chimed in with a sarcastic comment: "No shit, Sherlock."

Theo called him out: "Using Muggle expressions, Dray? Really?"

Draco groaned loudly.

"Boys, honestly, we _need_ a good excuse - " Daphne broke off as a steaming goblet of Hangover Potion appeared next to each person. Draco, quite used to the taste by then, downed his in one go with hardly a splutter. Theo did rather well with his, but Daphne sipped hers for quite a while until she got it all down.

"It's Daph's fault." Theo suggested.

"Naturally," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. She stood, stretched, and pressed her fingers to her dry, decidedly non-exfoliated cheeks. "This will takes ages to fix..."

Draco took charge. "Daphne, you go home and clean up. Theo, you're Public Relations, go do something about our lateness." He paused, swallowed hard, and said hesitantly, "And I'm going to track down Hermione Granger."

* * *

><strong><strong>AN: ****Not as long as I would like...I sort of feel like some of this is a little awkward (although I hate it when authors say this, I'm a hypocrite) so tell me if you want me to re-do something! However, I do really like parts of this (admittedly shorter than planned) chapter, so it evens out. I'm working on the next one as soon as I'm done posting this! Teaser:

"She was brushing her teeth when Draco Malfoy crashed through her ceiling and ended up with limbs tangled in her bathtub."

Review!


	6. Chapter 5: The State is Set

A/N: Here it is! More at the bottom.

**Tuesday**

**12:01 PM**

Let it be known that Draco Malfoy was _not_ a stalker.

True, he was currently standing in Hermione Granger's bedroom, eyeing her purple sheets with something akin to revulsion. But he was no stalker; he preferred the term _'collector of information_.' After all, knowing the color she liked to sleep on could provide him with an infinite amount of knowledge.

It had been extraordinarily simple to get in here. Either his mate didn't have wards up, or they recognized him as her Veela and let him through. He'd simply closed his eyes, pictured her, and apparated to where she was - thankfully, she had just been leaving her apartment and had closed the door to her flat just as he appeared with a pop in her living room. He had immediately thrown up a good amount of concealment charms, and then set about exploring.

Granger's living room, he deemed small, cramped, and much too barren for a war hero. She had a nice bluer rug on the floor, a soft couch with a horrid afghan, and a few tastefully placed pictures of variously nauseating friends placed around the room. Her fireplace was, strangely, painted a vivid white, which complimented the room nicely. As somebody who designed houses for a living, he could appreciate the soft balance she'd struck in her living room. Give her another couple square yards to work with, and he didn't doubt her ability to use her style to create a nice room. Maybe he'd hire her. Replace that annoying Gabrielle 'Gabby' Jenkins he currently employed.

Her kitchen was, however, sorely lacking. He opened the cupboards, interested to see what she ate, and was horrified to see a moulding loaf of bread, a few boxes of Muggle cereal, and boxes beyond count of pasta. There were a few cans neatly organized by type and name placed in the dusty shelves: instant soup, marinara sauce for the noodles, some kidney beans and one tin of sardines (not something he pictured her eating). Oh, and the tuna. There was plenty of tuna, but the cans were shoved towards the back and covered in a fine layer of dust. For the cat, maybe?

Her ice box was not much better. He opened the fridge door and immediately leaped back, as the absolutely _foul_ odor of rotten milk accosted his nose. Eyes watering, he cast a Bubble-Head charm on himself hastily, and braved the cool shelves - once again, organized to a tee.

_If she can spend so much time organizing her food, why can't she __buy__ food to put in there?_ Draco shook his head, before he was struck by a thought: hadn't he seen her at the food shop just a week or so ago?

He resisted the urge to clean her ice box, closing it thankfully and dropping the charm. The mystery surrounding Hermione Granger intensified. He moved into the bathroom, noticed the cheap tile and strangely large tub, and was struck by the lack of feminine products. Where was the shampoo? Conditioner? Facial scrubs? The creams and powders Daphne swore by?

Her bedroom, finally, hinted at her true personality. The rest of her empty flat could have belonged to anyone living at minimum wage with a penchant for organization and a fondness for luxurious baths. Here, though, he knew she spent the majority of her time.

There were books everywhere. Shrunken to the size of a matchboxes, they held up her bed, filled six large bookcases, provided a table on the floor for a large sheath of paper. He walked over to the 'desk' and looked at the papers, his nose crinkling.

_Dear _,_ it wrote, in neat script. A form letter?

_My name is Hermione Granger, and I recently graduated from Sparling's wizarding university. I invented the spell allowing Muggle technology to work in the presence of magic, and I am currently trying to start my own research firm in order to discover more useful spells. I plan to donate half of any proceeds to charity, as I am committed to making the Wizarding World a safer place for all misfortunate souls. _

_If you are interested in donating, please contact me at the following address._

_With thanks,_

_Hermione Granger_

It took all his willpower not to snort, before he remembered he was alone and burst out into laughter. Oh, it was reassuring to still be able to make fun of Granger without the Veela bond suffocating him. Her letter was priceless, and while he was certainly impressed that she'd invented such a complex spell, it showed him how clueless she really was.

"I plan to donate half of any proceeds to charity," he mocked out loud, the grin still present on his face. "Oh, Granger, don't you realize how naive that makes you sound?" Not to mention the insecurities she unconsciously betrayed by adding 'any' in that sentence. She hardly sounded like she thought she could make any money; how was she supposed to convince people to 'donate'?

And anyway, since when did people _donate_? Draco believed - okay, he knew - that what she was asking for weren't donations, they were investments. He sincerely hoped Granger hadn't sent this letter out to anyone. It was condescending in how she mentioned her degree and spell work - but she didn't manage to sound impressive, either - and she appeared inexperienced and the slightest bit pretentious. If Stranger-Granger was going to go into the cold world of business, she needed help, and fast.

_Merlin's left saggy -_

"That's it!" Draco immediately closed his expression off once he realized what an outburst had escaped his lips. He continued this in his head, reasoning out why it was such a brilliant idea - as all of his were. She needed somebody who would enter her life seamlessly (okay, not seamlessly, but as damn close as he could), buy her some groceries and get her little research firm up and running. Who could do that while expertly managing a business?

Well, a certain sexy man by the name of Draco Malfoy could.

He smirked to himself and looked around again, slowly, before apparating out. The familiar buzz was in his veins, the beginnings of a plan he knew would work most excellently. He appeared in his office and immediately summoned a coffee, accioing some papers over to him next. He sipped his dark roast as he surveyed the accounts of his bank statements. _Really, this is all too easy._

Draco clicked a quill, frowning suddenly. There were entirely too zeros on the 'comfort' section for his liking. The budget had been his idea, so that he could purchase a leather swivel chair and drink as much coffee as he liked, but he did not condone spending _three thousand galleons_ on comfy furniture! That was ridiculous! He needed answers, and he needed answers now!

Draco opened his door with a flick of his wand, walking out slowly. He trailed his hand along the cream trim on the wall, stopping at the first office down the hall: Nick. Draco leaned against the doorjamb, counting down the seconds until the other boy noticed him.

_One...two...three..._Draco made a small noise in his throat.

The brown haired boy, hunched over a piece of paper, jumped and hurriedly took off...something. "Mr. Draco!"

"What in Merlin's name is _that_?" Draco indicated the weird strings that used to be roped around his head.

"H-headphones," Nick said quickly, balling them in his fist. Draco gave him an expectant look, and Nick tried again. He lifted his hand, a slim, blue rectangle hanging from the string. "I used some spell in _Spells Weekly_ to enchant this, it's a Muggle music player."

Granger's spell! Dear Merlin. Draco hid his excitement at hearing this, only pinning his employee under a stern gaze. "How, exactly, did you come to obtain this?"

Nick ducked his head, and that gave him the answer: it had come out of the budget. "I used some of my money."

"Really, now." Nick winced at the venom in his boss' voice. "And that money was conveniently taken out of the allotment for 'comfort and pleasure'?"

"That's what it's for, isn't it?" The older boy burst out, before he subsided.

"Lobby. Fifteen minutes." Draco said curtly and moved on. Gabrielle was next. This time, he just barged straight in.

Gabrielle Jenkins was currently examining her dark hair in a mirror. It was magically held up in tons of bright pink curlers, which Draco took one look at, winced, and said curtly, "If that came out of the budget for 'comfort and pleasure,' go to the lobby in thirteen minutes exactly."

He repeated this with his other employees, until he had a group of seventeen people, Theo and Daphne included, looking at him apprehensively. Draco paced back in forth in front of them, his anger gone, replaced by a sly sense of fun. He loved this. This is what he was good at. He adored the way they looked at him, fear in their eyes, how he could manipulate them with a word or two.

"Tell me exactly," Draco said coolly, "_Exactly_, what the budget for 'comfort and pleasure' is for! Mary!"

The blond snapped to attention. "Um, things for us to, er, brighten up our office with? Things we need at work to keep our productivity going at work?"

She was an uptalker, and he really hated that with a passion. However, he concealed this particular annoyance and simply said, "How much money is allotted to each person?"

Draco thought this particular part of his budget plan was genius. He modeled it after the idea of 'commission,' where his employees could spend up to eight percent of their earnings on whatever they wanted to. In theory, it motivated them to work harder so they could buy whatever crap they wanted...but, it seemed to him, as if they were taking liberties.

"Nick," he said conversationally, "How much money is eight percent of what you earned last year?"

He reeled off a number.

"And how much did you spend on pleasure?" Draco smiled, but when he saw Theo fighting a grin, he knew it was coming off entirely too menacing. He rearranged his face, but Daphne stuck her tongue out at him at him, and he realized that the new look wasn't helping. He gave up and simply glowered. A collective shudder ran through the crowd.

When Nick answered, Draco's analytical brain kicked into play. _Carry the two, move the decimal place over..._Draco's eyes narrowed. "Fifteen point two percent, my dear employee," he said smoothly and very sardonically, "How much over the allotted percent is that? I'll allow you to do the math."

"S-seven point two percent."

Draco enjoyed the stutter entirely too much. "Riddle me this," he said, his voice growing softer and softer. "When did it become necessary to spend nearly twice the amount of money on useless trinkets _behind_ your boss' back? Please, somebody explain this logic to me because I'm not sure I'm getting it!"

"Mr. Draco - "

"3,000! Three thousand. That's a helluva lot of galleons to spend on hair curlers, huh, Gabrielle?"

The Italian woman flushed a deep pink. "Mr. Draco, _I_ only spent five percent of my income on comfort!"

Draco clenched his deep, took several deep breaths, and smiled winningly at her. "I'm about to leave. Right now. And does anyone want to hazard a guess as to what I'm doing?"

"Checking every single person's accounts," Daphne spoke up from the back, her voice clear and cutting. "And everybody better _pray_ that they spent less than eight percent, right, Draco?"

Again with the stepping up. Draco furrowed his eyebrows and said, "I'll decide what everyone 'better do,' and it most likely won't be good." He turned on his heel and stalked through the crowd. Murmurs accompanied him, and he nodded briskly at his friends. They fell into line behind him, and he controlled his temper until his office door was closed, locked, and under five spells to keep out intruders. Then he turned on Daphne.

"What the hell was _that_?"

Daphne looked affronted. "You were about to start yelling, and we all know how downhill things would have gone from _there_!"

"I am perfectly capable of self control, Daphne!"

"Oh, and that's why you're yelling now?"

Draco cracked his knuckles and spared a glance towards Theo, who was currently staring out of the window with extreme interest. Satisfied that he wouldn't be a problem, Draco returned his ire to the girl in their group. "This is _my_ business, Daphne. Where were you when I worked twenty hours a day trying to get this off the ground? Only when that article ran about me in the paper did you decide to help me out!"

She flushed a deep red, and Draco felt satisfaction, knowing that had been a particularly low shot. Rationally, he knew that Daphne was busy taking care of her hospitalized mother directly after the war, while Theo - free from all familial obligations - had been free to help out Draco. Logically, he knew that. Emotionally, it felt like complete _abandonment_, especially since they'd been pretty damn close during the war time.

Theo whistled softly to himself. Draco gave him a side glance, daring him to keep talking, and waited for Daphne's rebuttal.

She gave a derisive chuckle. "Don't blame me for your workaholic tendencies, asshole, and you _know_ you wouldn't have gotten anywhere without me!"

"Ooh, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Draco taunted. She sneered at him and he laughed, "Not that you would, since you worship her so damn much."

"Mature."

"Oh, was that too explicit for your delicate ears?"

Daphne's voice was positively brittle when she answered, "Unlike you, Draco, I actually care the hell about my mother."

He steamed. Where did she get off, telling him he didn't care about his mother? "I would care about my mother, if she ever fucking cared about me!"

"Oh, get over yourself, Draco, so she left for a couple damn years, who the hell cares?"

"Daphne, that's enough." Surprisingly, it wasn't Draco that said that. Theo gave his friend an icy glare and turned to celebrate with Draco - only to find his blond friend gone.

Suddenly, all animosity was gone between Theo and Daphne as they exchanged worried looks. Where was their friend?

**Tuesday**

**2:30 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She was brushing her teeth when Draco Malfoy crashed through her ceiling and ended up with limbs entangled in her bathtub.

It actually took her a second to process this, since she was leaning in, really going at her back molar. There was a spot of the delicious lasagna Ginny had made for their lunch still stuck to the back, and she just couldn't remove it without concentrating. So filled were her ears with the whirring of her toothbrush that the sound of her tub being _invaded_ was slightly muted.

Not by much.

She reacted as any child who watched forbidden horror movies on the telly late at night would: she jumped, screamed, whipped around like lightning, and stunned the hell out of her intruder as he began to sit up.

He fell back into her tub. Hermione looked at her wand with respect, wondering how in hell she managed to drop a man who's skills with magic were legendary. She kept her wand trained in between his grey eyes as she peeked over the edge of her creamy bathtub - her one luxury. His eyes were frozen open and on his face was a look of complete bewilderment; this threw her. Why would he seem _surprised_ that he was invading her personal space?

Chewing on her lip, Hermione thought for a second before deciding on a plan of action. She'd unstun him and just as quickly petrify him with a neatly placed spell, and then she'd inquire - nicely, at first - as to what in bloody hell he thought he was doing.

"_Finite...Petrificus Totalus!"_ Hermione yelled, before she smiled in satisfaction. Malfoy's eyes were following her around now, and did she detect a hint of amusement in them?

_Of course not. Stop being ridiculous, Hermione. _"Malfoy," she said sternly. "I expect you have a good excuse for what the hell you are doing?"

His eyes rolled around expressively before, a second later, she found herself staring at a perfectly suave man sitting on the edge of her bathtub. "I'm not entirely sure," he said smoothly.

His voice -

It was different than she remembered. It was fluid and smooth and rich, almost, and washed over her. She always used to hate his sneering, spiteful tone of voice, but this...this was different. This was mature, and she regretfully admitted that it was sort of - just a little - sexy. "How - "

"Did I escape?" Malfoy anticipated her response. He gave her a smile that she wanted to capture and stare at for long periods of time.

_Hermione Jean, you're being absolutely ridiculous._ Her irritation at her body's betrayal sharpened her voice as she curtly replied, her wand hand steady, "No, I suppose you _are_ rather capable of escaping hastily cast detainment spells. Lot of practice?"

Malfoy propped his legs up on her closed toilet as she marveled at herself. What was wrong with her? Why wasn't she freaking out, calling the Aurors, telling him to go stuff himself and leave her apartment at once? There was something about him, the playful glint in his eyes, the way his lips quirked when she glowered at him, how utterly casual he seemed, something that convinced her he wasn't to harm her. Not yet.

"That's kinky," he said leeringly. She sniffed at him. Then, "Really, Granger, was that a compliment? Careful, you'll boost my ego to unimaginable heights."

Was he teasing her? She glared at him suspiciously. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? How did you break through my wards?"

He looked so relaxed as he responded, "No wards of yours could keep me out." There was no malice in his voice, no emphasis on _yours_, nothing to suggest he was making snide comments about her wards. He said it like a fact, and that, above everything else, rankled her. How dare he just _assume_ he was that capable?

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Down, Granger," Malfoy said. His eyes travelled lazily around her small loo. "That wasn't an insult."

She breathed out deeply through her nose. What was with this insufferable man that allowed him to get under her skin? "Well, what did it mean?"

He looked at her with poorly concealed surprise. It never crossed her mind that the look he gave her was intentional, designed to ignite her curiosity and send her straight to the library. "You don't know anything about the situation, do you?"

What on Earth was he insinuating? Her eyes narrowed. "There is no _situation_ between you and me, Malfoy."

"Oh, but there is, and it's more complicated than you'd ever expect."

**Tuesday**

**2:57 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

His hands dug into the porcelain of her bathtub, restraining him. It was all he could do not to fly straight towards her and pin her to the wall with a kiss. He smiled at her, trying to look knowingly superior, as she fought to contain her struggling anger.

"You have ten seconds to explain exactly what you mean by that statement."

He had originally planned to tell her what was going on, but he realized it would be infinitely more entertaining to make her find out for herself. He started planning mentally. "How do you know I'm telling the truth?" He pushed himself off the tub and took a step towards her.

She stepped firmly back. "A lie's still better than nothing."

"I'm in love with you," he lied, taking another step, and another, towards her. He intended to stop when he was in line with the sink, but he couldn't, no, not at all; it was like there was something inside him urging him to just take _one more little step_, until he wasn't fully conscious of how close he was to her, getting pulled and pushed and grabbed until he took one more step.

"Malfoy, the truth." She backed up until she was pressed against the tile wall.

Unaware to him, he was smiling predatorily as he slowly advanced on her. Her wand was out and lit, but he didn't back down. He couldn't. It wasn't a decision to trap her against the wall, but he wouldn't be able to pull away, even the heady feeling in his head cleared long enough for him to want to. "Aw, Granger, if I _was_ in love with you - "

"Were," she couldn't help but correct.

Despite how irritating that was, he ignored it. Her inability to keep quiet cleared his head for a second and he paused in his slow ascent, taking in every detail of her like an animal - her hair, her slight freckles, how she was steadily turning pinker and pinker with an emotion he couldn't name. _Don't kiss her_, he cautioned himself with his last vestige of reason. _It'll scare her away. _"If I were," he continued, "that would have broken my heart."

"Good, it's what you deserve." He could name the emotion, after a second of concentration. He felt it streaming deep inside him, somewhere behind his rip, a pleasant, potent longing. He wasn't fully aware if it was coming entirely from her - he probably was influencing her - but he wished he could wrap the strands of this desire around him and dress in it and pass his day in a haze of lust. _Don't kiss her!_

He chuckled to himself, a laugh that turned real when he noticed her glancing at his lips. He was sure that she wasn't fully aware of what she was doing, but that was okay because all his willpower was gone, too, and he was lost in the bond's light but firm grasp. He felt as if he was thrumming, vibrating, so close to his mate it was maddening. He took another slow step. _Stop before you kiss her! Draco - _"Now, Granger, that really broke me up."

"Good," she breathed. The sound shot straight down and he growled low in his throat. All semblances of self control had disappeared. He remembered raggedly once last time - he _couldn't_ kiss her, it would ruin everything - and then she spoke, and that thought crumbled. "At least give me a hint, Malfoy."

Merlin, didn't she get flustered being so close to him? How was she this doggedly on the subject? He smiled as the most perfect line came to him, in the nick of time. _Kiss her!_ Was the bond screaming it, or his inner subconscious? Or - a scary thought - were they the same thing?

_Just kiss her! _"Here's your hint," he whispered huskily, making his voice as sex-saturated as he possibly could, and placed his lips on hers.

He didn't feel fireworks, or get so lost in it that the world could have ended and he wouldn't have noticed. What he did feel, however, was a burst of sexual tension so fierce and bright and sudden that he felt he would _die _if he didn't have sex with her that very instance.

She felt it too, obviously, as she moaned softly into his voice, a sound that nearly drove her to the edge. Her hands slid to his chest and he, lost in a daze of desire, prepared himself for a quick against-the-bathroom-wall sort of shag, when she suddenly Petrified him and he found himself on the floor, erection frozen half-mast.

The buzz cleared so fast it left his head spinning with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and unfufillment. The _bitch!_

**Tuesday**

**3:10 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

He just -

She had -

What?

Had she just been _kissed_ by Draco Malfoy?

Hermione gaped at the man that was, once again, on her bathroom floor. Now that the surprise was wearing off, her mind was kicking into play. Why could she kiss _Malfoy_ and not Anthony? Not only kiss, but Hermione felt the strangest urge, something she'd only read about in novels late at night. She wasn't a virgin - Ron had taken care of that - but she'd never felt something so...so...so _consuming_ like the all encompassing desire that had taken hold of her. She hadn't been able to resist, as if her entire life was pinpointed in his stormy gray eyes and pale lips.

Malfoy once again stood up, displaying that annoying ability to throw off her spells like they were nothing. He gave her the smallest smile and saluted her. "Rossi would be a good thing to look up," he said. "Vedette Rossi. _Addio_, Granger."

She didn't know whatever language he was speaking, but she could recognize a parting remark when it came. "Don't you dare go anywhere, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled. It wasn't as strong as she'd like because the _want_ she felt lingered at the corners of her mouth, making her voice low and throaty. She cleared it, hacking it several times. "You stay right here and explain every single fucking thing that's happened."

"Ooh, a dirty mouth." His grin turned lascivious. "I'd like to hear that mouth again sometime, Granger. Preferably with my name thrown in and a few 'Oh! Please! Harder!'s for good measure."

"You bastard!" Hermione's fingers scrabbled behind her on the kitchen sink, when she grabbed hold of something heavy - a can of shaving cream - which she threw at his head. He only bowed mockingly and disappeared, and she was left watching the purple container hit her wall and explode into a splatter of foamy white cream.

What had just happened?

**Wednesday**

**12:01 AM**

_"Clearity,"_ she mumbled fiercely. "_Clearity,_ dammit!"

Her eyes, red with exhaustion and a brief bout of crying (somewhere between scanning six hundred pages of _Lineage and a Line Through the Ages_ and seven-twenty five of _Who's My Ancestor?_ Hermione had succumbed to tears), instantly cleared. _Clearity_ was a spell she'd invented a few years ago, which Padma had named - a mix between _Clear it_ and _Clarity_ - and the two had become attached to their "clever" name and worked it into the incantation. It worked fabulously...that is, when it wasn't overused.

She'd used it forty-six times in an hour.

"Vedette Fucking Rossi," Hermione swore uncharacteristically. "Where the hell are you?" She slammed the cover of the tome she was currently scanning shut, creating a storm of dust that prompted coughing and yet another _Clearity_. "Arrghh!"

_Italian,_ a thought came, unbidden, into her mind. Hermione didn't pay the stray idea any more thought than necessary; she was used to her overworked brain giving her little 'hints' now and then, things she'd subconsciously realized earlier but was too tired to acknowledge. "Italian," she said out loud, "Vedette Rossi. Hmm."

Hermione stood and walked to the stacks, her footsteps loud in the large and empty library. She, naturally, had charmed an all-hours, unrestricted pass to the books early in her career. It had involved making some promises she preferred not to think about with the crotchety old lady who ran the center, but she considered it a necessary sacrifice.

"_Pedigree of Italia,"_ she read to herself, her nose crinkling. Pedigrees brought to mind dogs and competitions and blue ribbons, not generations of people. She pulled it out anyway and carried it to her table, setting it down carefully on felt pads before returning to the cherry wood bookshelves. "_Genealogia: A Comprehensive Study of Italian Families_. That looks more promising than the pedigree one."

It took a few minutes with her nose stuck into the Index to realize Rossi, whoever she was, wasn't in the _Pedigree of Italia, Ed. 2_. The other one, then. "Genealogy," Hermione correctly guessed the cognate. "Come on, Vedette, it's been four and a half hours of searching for you!"

As it had so often in the past couple of hours, the thought sprung into her mind that Malfoy could be leading her on a wild goose chase. She doubted it, somehow, but at the same time was reasonably wary. Still, she needed answers. How did he break into her apartment? Why did he kiss her, and why did she feel like she was about to jump him and shag him into oblivion? Why did she feel as if she was the crocodile in _Peter Pan_, a clock ticking its way in her stomach, about to go off at any moment? The sense of urgency was the worst part, Hermione decided. She hated the queasy feeling she got every time Rossi wasn't in a book. It was strange, but she got the impression that, if she didn't find the answer _soon_, something terrible was going to happen.

"Focus," she coached herself. "Calm. Rossi. Look for Rossi."

Ron always hated it when she talked aloud to herself while researching. Harry never mentioned it, but she'd proof read his essays later on, and snuck into a dry paragraph on witch burnings there would be a phrase, a sentence, a quote, something she'd said to herself loudly: _'Warty the Wary enjoyed witch burnings because on page eighty two he's finally there, I was beginning to worry...'_

She smiled wanly to herself at the thought. Dear, sweet Harry, her brother in everything but blood - although she'd practically changed that, she thought to herself, smiling fondly at a mark on her wrist. She needed to visit him desperately.

_Speaking of desperately..._Hermione flipped through the book to the Index, where she scanned for Rossi. She knew it'd be there before she found it, a warm feeling spreading to her stomach to the rest of her body, energizing it. "Page seventy three!"

She pointed her wand at the book, and it turned to pg. 73 immediately. One couldn't use magic on old books too often (it caused decay) but she was impatient and knew a tiny spell wouldn't even be detected. It was worth it, anyway, as 73 had a large family tree heading the page.

She scanned down it eagerly, her eyes stopping - her heart stopping as well - as she found, in curling script, _Vedette Rossi_ neatly connected to a smudged name.

The line ended there.

There was, however, a dotted line going down from Vedette. "Black (?)" It read at the bottom, as if the self-updating spell was confused about something. Black would mean...

Oh, damn.

She just bet Draco Malfoy sent her on this chase to see that he was heir of not one, not two, but _three _ancient pureblood families. What a first-class prat! She was over caring about her blood status. Good for him if he was related to -

"A Veela?" Hermione read, her eyes widening in confusion. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit, mother fucking shit!"

She hated swearing aloud, but if a situation ever called for it, this was one. Trembling, she walked over to _Magical Beasts and Creatures_ and turned the pages mechanically until she reached Veela. She already knew what it would say, but read it anyway.

She could feel it.

The thrumming running through her - that was the bond. Oh, this explained so much. She'd made the jump immediately, realizing exactly how Malfoy being a _Veela_ tied up so many loose threads. "I hate you, Malfoy!"

**Wednesday**

**12:34 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He felt her irritation wash over him, and the bond purred in satisfaction. She'd found out, then. He'd interfered more than he'd planned to, telling her very plainly that Rossi was _Italian_. It was obvious, he'd thought. Wasn't Rossi an exclusively Italian name? He didn't know the logistics, but while there were plenty Muggle Rossi families, there was only one Wizarding one. Couldn't see just crack open a lineage book, flip to the Rossi page, and find out the truth about Vedette very easily? He'd been half-heartedly working on crunching percents so he could find out where all the money in his 'comfort and pleasure' budget had ran away to, but he'd been more distracted feeling the pain coming from his mate.

Okay. So, he wasn't Hermione Granger's number one fan. Still, there was something about the quiet anguish, the frustration, the lurking sorrow he couldn't identify, her sleep deprivation that tore its way through the bond and made him _care. _The way he saw it, he could never be happy until she was happy. Not because of some poorly-reasoned romantic ideals, but because it was clear honest fact that a Veela needed a content mate to exist peacefully.

He sighed somewhere around eleven, put down the calculator and jot-sheet he was using, and concentrated on calming thoughts. He didn't know what calmed Granger down, so he tried some idyllic daydreams of books and libraries and all those types of things, but he soon quit that as they only seemed to inflame her in the sensitive state she was that was entirely too akin to PMS. Next, he tried sex, but _that_ didn't calm her at all. She got pissed at herself and at him. So, Draco gave up for the next hour...

...now, however, he was barely able to contain herself as Hermione Granger had what was called a "freak out." He was completely unable to concentrate as she cycled through emotions so quickly he could hardly identify them: pain, anger, sadness, curiosity, amazement, horror, and shock to name a few. She kept returning to anger, though, a feeling he could relate to as well.

_'My whole life has gone by so that I could be Draco Malfoy's little sex toy?'_

"Shit!" Her thought ran through him so vividly it stung, the mental venom she'd imbued it with creating a burning trail. His head pounded as he felt her sobs begin to start. An image flashed in his mind - her, inclined over a table stacked with books, stark moonlight highlighting her, tears rolling down her cheeks. A tableau, frozen in a single moment in time, imprinted in her brain.

Without realizing what he was doing, he apparated. Not to her, no - he wasn't about to offer his enemy _comfort_ when she thought of him as a twisted, deviant sex fiend. No, he appeared in Daphne's spacious house, only to see her snogging somebody handsome and very familiar.

"Draco!" Daphne squeaked, tearing away from Blaise Zabini's dark face. "What the hell?"

"We need to talk," he told her cryptically, realizing a beat too late how _couple-ish_ that sounded. He added, "About the work situation."

Daphne re-buttoned her white blouse while Blaise looked Draco over insolently. "The budget?"

Draco gave Blaise a subtle glare. What the hell did he think he was doing, pawing up his honorary sister at midnight? He better not have touched her, or he'd have another thing coming, especially as Theo was in love with her and Zabini and Daph weren't even dating. "The other situation - hi, Zabini."

"Malfoy." The man said coolly.

"Got out of the hospital, then?" Draco inquired casually, checking his nails. "What was it this time? Dragon Crabs? Wizard's Chlamydia?"

Blaise's already brown face darkened. Draco wasn't sure exactly what race he was, but he could remember all too well how the girls went ga-ga over it. Of course, _his_ dashing gray eyes and sexy blond hair surpassed any exotic beauty Blaise possessed, but Draco never liked the other man. Blaise gave a sideways glance to Daphne, who was looking at him with slight revulsion and surprise, and said forcefully, "I got Dragon _Pox_, Malfoy, not Crabs; not that I'd expect you to know the difference, you've had both so many times."

Ha. That wasn't even worth a reply. He gave one anyway, just because he wanted to drive Daphne a little farther away from the man-slut she was sitting next to, previously exchanging tainted saliva with. "That was a dreadful insult," Draco said calmly. "Firstly, I have never slept around in such quantities as to contract a repulsive disease such as Crabs. Secondly, if I _had_ experience in such matters, it'd make more sense if I was well acquainted with the differences, yes? A shoddy idea, a rubbish delivery; why, Zabini, you _have_ slipped since our school years."

Zabini didn't flush, but he did look quite angry. Draco looked over to Daphne, waiting for a concealed smirk, but found her resolutely scooting closer to Blaise. What the fuck?

"Draco," Daphne said charmingly, in a voice she could have only learned from him. Somehow she managed to look dignified even with her brown hair mussed, her blouse still loose a few buttons, and her skirt unzipped. It was the eyes, he decided. They flashed at him with anger and promises of retribution. "I'd be happy to discuss the budget problem with you during work hours tomorrow, but I'd appreciate it if you let me spend _my_ night with - " pause, slight discomfort - "my boyfriend."

Daphne! He had a brief image of Theo's heartbroken face and shuddered to himself. He thought about crassly dragging her to the other room and having a hushed conversation asking where her senses were, but decided that was too cliché. "Your boyfriend," he repeated slowly. He really was thrown for a loop or nine, though he tried to keep it in check. "Wow, Zabini, better get tested. She'll work you hard." He gave the man a wink and his dumb friend a leer. "Take it from somebody who knows this - _personally_."

He disapparated.

What the fuck was she thinking?

_Blaise Zabini?_ Zabini? The Zabini whom she hated all through school? The Zabini that slept with girls and used them, threw them away like they were rubbish escaped from their bins?

_Like you?_ It sounded suspiciously like Granger, but he knew she wouldn't be able to manipulate the bond with intention until they consummated the bond.

Speaking of which...he closed his eyes and groaned briefly. He didn't think he was going to last six days. Hopefully she'd figure out soon what was going on and present herself for shagging quickly. He fervently prayed that she was a good lover. He couldn't stand to be stuck with a shoddy shag-buddy for the rest of his life. "I could teach her," he said to himself thoughtfully. He pictured her mid-coitus, head thrown back, all that bushy hair loose and tumbling down her back, slick with sweat, smelling sweetly of sex, her body convulsing, and that mouth - that sweet mouth - crying out obscenities, shuddering around him. It was beautiful...the knowledge that he, Draco Malfoy, had shed her repressed librarian exterior along with her granny panties, revealing a sexy seductress who rode him until both of them collapsed in a bliss of ecstasy.

Alternately, she'd refuse to do any position but missionary, and lay there for the entire event with that dreadfully judgmental look on her face, checking her watch as if to go, "Get on with it; I have books to read!" And they'd both live with lukewarm sex for the end of eternity.

Yeah, that was more likely.

**A/N 2: Well? Meet expectations? I wasn't going to make him kiss her, and I _was_ going to draw out the torment of her being on the brink of knowledge for a few more chapters, but I caved. About the kiss - I know I'll get some complaints, but the way I picture the Veela bond, Draco doesn't really have a choice. For those of you expecting Hermione to jump in his pants, well, it's not happening.**

**Teaser (because it worked so well last time; you know who you are): He couldn't believe it had come to this. He couldn't believe he was standing outside her front door, prepared to get on his damn hands and knees, ready to beg for her to listen to him. He couldn't believe his plan had failed, and he couldn't believe it was his own mother that foiled one of the most important business meetings of his life.**

**Not as tantalizing, however, but maybe it'll draw some curiosity...**

**Thanks for reading! And to my lovely reviewers: nothing makes my day more than seeing a new email pop in my mailbox.**

**Addio!**


	7. Chapter 6: Desire is Unavoidable

A/N: This is practically two chapters. I probably should have posted it as two, but whatever. I hope you like this. Here's the deal, though, about my updating schedule for the next couple of weeks.

I have a summer program that starts on Sunday and runs two weeks, not giving me any time to write. Then, I go to Greece, where I may be able to write a little. After that, I have a writing institute to attend for two weeks, and when I return my family is moving to new state. Unfortunately, this means I may not be able to update for a quite a while. I'd like to ask for your patience - I promise that, when I update it, it'll be as long as these 14,900 words, maybe longer. More at the bottom. Please excuse any grammar or other mistakes! I have no beta, and I'm pretty bad at proof-reading.

THIS HAS A SEX SCENE. It shifts from explicit to focusing more on their reactions. I wrote "START" when it begins and it continues to the end of the chapter. If you don't want to read it, then you may skip it. There are also tidbits of a sexual dream Hermione had, but it only happens twice and isn't that explicit.

**Thursday**

**10:01 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Her meeting had been scheduled to start at 9:30 exactly.

It was thirty-one minutes past the allotted time, and she hadn't heard even a whisper from the man she _was_ supposed to be meeting. Sure, being a world famous Spells Master was cause for a little leeway, but she hoped the man that invented the Disillusionment spell would be a little prompter. A brilliant mind, Gordon Chance was much like her, or so she fancied. He'd gone to Sparling's University - like her - and even fought in the First Dark War. She greatly admired him.

Too bad he couldn't show up on time.

"Maybe you should come back tomorrow," a voice said from the doorway. She looked up to see a mildly attractive man giving her a curious look. "Prof. Chance doesn't seem to be in."

She briefly contemplated what the man would be like as a boyfriend, before she dismissed the thought. Thanks to _Malfoy_, she would no longer have the opportunity to be in a loving, committed relationship. He'd probably lock him up in a room and feed her through a cat flap, only talking to her when he wanted sex. Well, he'd have another thing coming. She didn't think she'd do any of that _bond consummating _that he clearly expected; so what if he suffered "consequences"? Penance for his deeds during the war, she reckoned. Anyway, it was his problem, not hers. He was the one that pinned her against the wall and kissed her without her consent, instead of discussing the Veela situation like a rational person. Why, he'd made her spend four horrid hours researching when he could have _easily_ said, "My ancestor was a Veela, I am too, and you are my mate."

"Thinking deep thoughts?" The man persisted. She noticed how his eyes traveled down her legs with desire. Her legs, long and toned and muscular from sweaty days on a bicycle, was her one pride. Her breasts were average sized, her hair was, well, her hair, and she wasn't exactly curvy. Her legs, though, looked as if they stretched for miles. She was very capable of showing them off in a classy fashion, as her skirt did today. Normally, she would smile brightly at him and answer politely, but today she only grunted at him.

"I'm just tired."

He had dark hair and pretty green eyes, which she could appreciate from a bystander's point of view. Not taking the hint, he sat next to her on another leather chair. Hermione had sat in many waiting rooms to be sure, but this one with its tastefully painted walls, comfortable seats and oak tables, was one of the best. "Tired, huh? Want some coffee? I'm Matthew Perelman, intern to Professor Chance."

"Intern?" She looked at him, impressed. She didn't know wizards did internships. Immediately, she began thinking: could _she_ get an internship? Oh, it would be fascinating! "Impressive."

He winked at her, leaning back. "It's keyword for 'secretary.' I fetch coffee, clean up, dodge the paper balls he throws near the rubbish bin. Brilliant man, but hardly a sporty one."

"Are you Muggleborn?" It was rude, she knew, but the way he talked made her think he wasn't a pureblood for sure.

Matthew didn't look insulted, only sending her a small smile. "Half," he said promptly before making a face. "Is it that obvious? I've tried to tone down my Muggle-isms, as most of Professor Chance's clients don't appreciate it."

Hermione smiled at him in return. Oh, why couldn't she be a mate for someone like _him_? He was charming and intelligent and rather nice. _Then again, he could be a closet sadist, smiling at you with his perfect teeth in an attempt to seduce you, take you home, tie you up in chains and have his way with you, again and again._

Where did that thought come from?

She knew she didn't think it. It had sounded like something Malfoy would say, complete with a leering sneer and sardonic eyebrow. Come to think of it...could Malfoy be invading her thoughts?

_No, _she thought - and it was her thinking this time. _There's no way. Long-distance Legilimency is impossible_.

"You know, you really zone out a lot."

She was opening her mouth to reply when, forty three minutes late, a Gordon Chance walked impatiently into the room. Dressed in dress robes, with thick glasses and a perpetually squinting look, he was the stereotypical 'nerd.' "Matthew, return to your duties," was his opening comment, barked in the manner of somebody used to getting his way. "Ms. Granger, come with me."

Startled, Hermione stood, smoothing her skirt with hesitation. Matthew winked again at her, mouthing _'Good Luck.' _

_'Thanks,'_ she mouthed back, sending him a shy smile before hurrying after one of the most brilliant minds in the Wizarding World. After Tuesday's scare and Wednesday's discovery, she needed to get her head back on straight and concentrate on her research firm. That was why she scheduled a meeting with Chance. Now, though, she was beginning to regret not waiting until her head was firmly on its shoulders, in the game, on straight and whatever clichés she could think of.

Leading her to a bright office not befitting his character, Chance sat down behind a stylish coffee table, not a desk, and offered her a seat on the other side. She perched on the edge of the chair but gave him a confident smile. Easy self-confidence, she knew, was the key. "Hello, Professor Chance," she greeted him. "How are you doing?"

To her surprise, he gave her a warm smile. "Wonderful," he said charmingly. "And you?"

Totally thrown, she tried to stay cool. "I'm so thankful you agreed to meet with me on a short notice," she said diplomatically. "It'll be such a help."

"About that - what, again, are we meeting about?" Once again, Gordon Chance displayed an uncanny ability to change personalities, this time from gracious host to absent-minded scientist. He scrabbled through a sheaf of paper on the coffee table. "You're looking for work, yes?"

"Not exactly," she began. "I intend to start my own research firm where I can work towards creating spells to integrate Muggle and Wizard cultures."

Chance peered at her with an air of abject astonishment. "Why on earth would you want to do that, girl? What do the Muggles have to offer us?"

_Don't get mad, you need him_. Again, the voice that wasn't her appeared in her head, but she didn't pay it too much heed. It was probably her subconscious. She had bigger things to worry about at the minute. "Professor Chance, have you used a cellphone lately?"

"Of course not," he said arrogantly. _Maybe he has Multiple Personality Disorder?_

"They allow people to communicate with each other from far distances, in public, without the use of Floos or the delay of owls...it only requires a purchase of the device and a small monthly fee. The spell that allows electricity to work in the presence of magic was my own invention, Professor."

Chance leaned back in his seat, exuding a dislikeable air. "Ms. Granger, let's be honest. There isn't a demand for your services. It's useless. Why are you even attempting? Filthy Muggles have no purpose integrating with Wizards, and their technologies don't either."

"Professor Chance!" Hermione stood, feeling completely let down. "I'm sorry, but we both fought in wars so that Muggles wouldn't be subjugated. I can't stand for this."

"Then sit down."

The infuriating man! "Please, I'm afraid I cannot continue this conversation. I'd like to be let out, sir."

Chance stood as well. "Sit _down_," he said commandingly. She sat quickly, afraid of the imposing man that had taken the place of the bigot. She held her wand in her purse tightly, ready to try to defend herself. "The good news is, you've passed my test."

"A shoddy test," she mumbled rebelliously. A test? What on Earth?

He smiled coolly at her. "It works rather well for me, though you are the first to threaten to leave. The bad news is, I cannot help you."

"Why not?" Hermione looked at him pleadingly. The greatest mind, and he couldn't help her make her own brain more intelligent?

"I am no business man. You may owl me for any questions related to spellwork, and we may even meet, but I'm afraid I can't waste my time meeting with you if you aren't going to succeed."

She had never felt so insulted. "Of course I'm going to succeed!"

He leaned in. "Then do it. Go out there, Ms. Granger, and get investments, get money, get employees, get a firm up and running, and then we can meet again. Until that day, goodbye."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday<strong>

**11:30 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He was trying to work on his newest project - a park of all things, something he'd never attempted - when a shot of complete outrage ran through him.

"_Damn,"_ Draco sighed fervently, shaking his head as if to clear water from his ears. That had been intense. He wondered why, exactly, Granger was so pissed off about something...the Weasel had probably gone and said something particularly idiotic. He shook it off anyway and stood when his watch beeped softly: eleven thirty two. It was time to depart for Gringotts; he had an important meeting to discuss with them. He'd carefully reviewed everybody's purchases and come to the conclusion that either somebody was _lying _- he doubted that, nobody could successfully lie to Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass _and_ Draco Malfoy's faces - or he was facing a serious case of theft from outside his employees. The money-obsessed goblins would soon come to the bottom of that.

He examined himself in his desk drawer mirror, deciding he looked a little too frazzled to appear in public. Shit - seconds were ticking by. He didn't want to cast a glamour, as those had dreadful side affects if over utilised, and he didn't want scales growing on his nose. Instead, he just brushed his hair magically over his eyes, hoping to take attention away from the bags under them.

A second later, he released a gasp. As soon as he'd wished to remove the circles painted under his eyes, they'd gone immediately. Was he a metamorphmagus as well? Draco tried to change his hair to a garish brown with no success, but the minute he decided his lips were chapped they smoothed themselves out.

Hm.

He had the ability to make himself more attractive? Oh, definitely something he'd be using to great affect. No wonder his mother always looked stunningly gorgeous. Draco grabbed his jacket, slung it over one shoulder, and exited the office, his mind whirring. If he got mad - really, piss-roaring mad - would he turn into a great, ugly, scaly bird? He needed to test that out desperately. He'd been plenty angry lately, but never felt as if wings would sprout from his back.

"You're five minutes late to departing for our Gringotts meeting," Daphne greeted him by the lifts.

"Seven," he corrected, stepping neatly in front of her as the pair entered the gleaming box. "Eight, actually, if you round up the last couple of seconds."

Daphne smoothed her hair back as the doors slid shut. He eyed her carefully, and expelled a sound of disgust. On the surface, she looked the same: her hair was pulled back into a wavy ponytail, she was wearing a professional women's suit, shoes that lengthened her legs without screaming "shag me!" However, his eyes zoomed in on her fingernails, neatly painted a bright red.

Blaise loved a passionate red on his girls.

Draco was no innocent. Him and Blaise used to, fifth year, create outrageous bets and dares that usually involved one or more (usually more) women. One of the very first times, Draco had bet Blaise six galleons that the other boy wouldn't be able to get a specific Hufflepuff in sexy red lingerie. Blaise had come through with a newly-corrupted fifteen year old girl and a special love for the color. Draco was also quite aware that Daphne loathed the color, thinking it made girls look cheap and tart-like.

"What, Draco?" Daphne asked innocently, trying to look professional as the lift dinged and slid open on the lobby. They exited together, both smiling pleasantly for the sakes of appearances. Draco held open the glass door for his female friend and followed her down the street - they worked a block away from a Gringotts branch. Contrary to what most had thought through their school years, Gringotts had many locations all around Europe; there had even been one a mile away from Hogsmede that Draco had walked to multiple times.

"Nice nails."

Daphne glanced down, even though she'd probably known this would happen from the moment she'd gotten it applied. In fact, he would hazard a guess that cornering him by the lifts had been calculated. "Thank you; I think they look quite attractive."

"Trashy," he said conversationally, holding open the door to a local coffee shop. Yes, he was behind schedule, but the goblins would expect him to arrive with something to eat or drink. He made it routine without making it too obvious; he didn't want somebody impersonating him. "Cheap."

She flushed, aggresively glaring at the couple in front of them until they moved. "Really, Draco, don't be so judgemental."

"You're having a torrid affair with Blaise Zabini," Draco said coolly, before smiling disarmingly at the café attendant. "I would like your #2. Medium."

Daphne ordered her own coffee, and each put down a few sickles before receiving their drinks. "Draco, your mate is Granger."

"Here's the difference," Draco said, again leading his friend out of the store. "I have no choice."

"Oh, get over yourself, Draco," she sniffed. Her lips turned down slightly, and she sighed. He waited without judgement, knowing perfectly well she was close to tears.

He moved closer to her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, just for a second, as light as a brush of air. It was too brief for the photographers to see, but he intended to offer comfort for her, one of his best friends. "Why?"

Daphne's lips turned up slightly, even as she stared straight ahead. The sound of their feet on the pavement were perfectly in line, _step-step-step-step_. "He makes me happy," she said simply. "I don't love him, Merlin no, but sometimes I want to have a passion fueled relationship that makes me feel like a queen, Draco."

He wanted to stop right there, turn to her, and tell her that she didn't need a sleaze bag like Zabini to make her feel like a queen. Hell, he could do that with ease. _It's not the place to say_, he told himself sternly, and instead gave her a sardonic smile that told nothing, revealed no inch of his displeasure. "Gino's, at five?"

"Six thirty," she confirmed. He flashed her a smile, her unwillingness to agree to him more amusing than insulting. She was free at five - that was why he suggested it - but Daphne's damn pride prevented her from just saying _yes_.

"Six forty-five."

"Bullshit."

"Let me have my moment," he said, his smile transitioning into the slight smirk he wore in public quite easily, as the pair entered the shiny marble doors of Gringotts Bank. Daphne, too, changed slightly; minuscule changes to be sure, but any self-respecting pureblood would evaluate her slightly raised head, the challenging glint in her eyes, and decide that both Slytherins meant business.

As soon as they entered, they were accosted by a painfully smiling goblin who did _not_ look as if he (she?) wanted to help them at all. In fact, Draco had long since harboured a suspicion that each goblin, instead of spending their time 'assisting' customers, would devise many methods to dispose of said customer and profit from it. He could respect that - slightly - but the tiny creatures still gave him the shivers, especially since he was certain they bore a grudge or one hundred for what his family had done to Griphook. It was okay, though; he'd been working on getting the Gringotts Goblins to respect him, if only so they could help him in situations such as today's.

"May I help you?" This particular goblin said, bowing with an insolent air.

"Yes," Draco said snappishly. "You can start by ceasing to bow; neither my companion nor I derive any pleasure from the sight of you prostrating yourself to a wizard and a witch." In truth, he quite liked the idea of all creatures bowing to him as he walked by - well, he entertained it in his head on occasion - but there was something about goblins acting subservient that rankled him.

The goblin rose slowly, eyeing Daphne and Draco with the utmost suspicion. "Yes, sir," he said, finally straightening. "May I inquire to your business here?"

Draco saw Daphne opening her mouth to answer and hurried his response to beat her. "There have been discrepancies in my company's budget."

The goblin gave a snarl that was frightening, nearly startling Draco to take a step back. He stood firm, however, as the goblin curled his claws into fists. "Right this way, sir."

Daphne hurried to follow, but Draco walked at a more leisurely pace. He surveyed the interactions between goblins and humans, snorting at the way the rich preened at the bows. Ridiculous. House-elves, sure, they had their place. He could survive without them, though it was a horrid thought. Without the allegiance of goblins, however, the entire Wizarding world and its economy would topple, and fast, maybe never to recover. In a purely business sense of view, Draco knew that the Ministry especially had to start treating goblins a sight better before they revolted.

"Draco!" Daphne hissed from in front, raising her chin slightly as if to say, _'Come on, hurry up, you fat piece of lard.'_

Well, maybe not to that extent, but he wasn't in the most charitable mood and so he scowled at his friend. He sauntered just a bit faster, smirking to himself at her infuriated look, before he let his gaze slide in pure astonishment to something invisible on the left side. Daphne immediately turned, hand going to her wand, and in her distraction failed to notice her friend slipping past her and walking right next to the goblin.

_Five, four, three...two, one,_ Draco counted off neatly, pinning the exact moment when Daphne whipped around to find that she was indeed lagging. "Hurry," he called, his voice mocking. "Or you'll be left behind, _Greengrass_."

"Oh, shut up, _Malfoy_," Daphne huffed, quickening her steps to join him. "That was dreadfully immature."

"You fell for it, didn't you?"

She turned her nose to the front and did not answer. He smiled to himself in triumph and the pair followed in silence until they were led to an office. "Here we are, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Greengrass," the goblin said, without the customary tinge of disgust. "The manager of your account's office, Mr. Malfoy." He began to bow, but a cough from Draco stopped him.

"Thank you," he said. _All for business, be polite_. The goblin muttered something and quickly fled, and Daphne knocked on the door three times.

"That was awfully out of character for you, Draco," she commented.

"If you think that, you don't know me very well."

She raised an eyebrow as the door swung open, and an unusually tall goblin peered out. Magnook. "Who is it?"

Draco tried to look innocent, and innocuous, and attempted a smile. It didn't exactly work. "Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass." Since he'd managed to get the other goblin fired up minutes before, he repeated his earlier problem: "There have been discrepancies in _Sleeping Dragon_'s budget for 'business and pleasure,' and we are unsure as to where the money has gone."

"Come in, come in," Magnook said, bad-tempered. Draco gave a _'this will take a while_' look to Daphne, who shot him a faint smile of agreement in reply. Magnook, however, misinterpreted it. "Sorry, sir, that I forgot to bow," he said ungraciously and bowed.

"Wait - " Draco shook his head. "No. My companion and I don't believe in goblins - "

"Acting subservient," Daphne chimed in. "It's a horrid case of affairs here in the Wizarding world."

Magnook gave them a stern look. "Five years I've been working with you, Mr. Malfoy, and not once have you protested."

Draco stared down the creature. "Are you protesting my recent change in views, Magnook? If so, I can easily find another goblin with different inclinations to help me." _Shit. That sentence was hardly understandable. Was 'inclinations' the right word to use? Shit! _

Daphne hid a smile, obviously noticing his awkward wording, but the goblin made no indication he'd realized Draco's mistake. "I would never protest such a change, Mr. Malfoy," Magnook said diplomatically. "If it is given sincerely."

The two faced off. Draco assessed what he could of the goblin; Magnook was impressed, it was obvious. He gave the tiniest smile and said, "The only person who can determine the sincerity behind my words is you. Shall we look at the financial reports from the last fiscal year?"

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday<strong>

**12:10 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Unaware that she was smiling quite the wicked smile, Hermione took notes with great pleasure, her lips curved as she pictured exactly how to torment the Veela she was paired with.

Mates weren't powerless, as she'd thought. In fact, Hermione was pleased to discover that there were quite a lot of things she could do to Malfoy within the confines of her head, even more once they'd bonded for _real_. She was still iffy on the topic of consummating - as in, having sex with - Draco Malfoy. She hadn't yet discovered what would happen if she did not sleep with him before 12:00 AM on Tuesday, but it couldn't be _that_ bad if the mate (enter her) wasn't affected in the slightest.

Back to her tormenting Malfoy.

The easiest method to try, she'd decided, was to send him dreams. To what she could figure, this particular 'power' was intended so that mates could affect their Veelas to such an extent that, upon their next meeting, the Veela would jump on the mate and shag him to his heart's content. She did _not_ intend on sending Malfoy any racy dreams, heaven no, but she could just imagine all the guilt she could install, the horror, the desire to beg forgiveness at her feet. It would be fantastic.

If that failed, there was always the handy emotion-influencing. Hermione thought this was particularly fascinating, and longed to try it. Apparently, it worked both ways, but her sadness or hurt (or desire, she was disgusted to note) would affect Malfoy tenfold. There were others - if she had strong enough Occlumency skills, she could even speak to him mentally - and such, but these two were practically the only things she could accomplish without sleeping with him.

Tonight, she decided, she'd stay up a little later and follow the instructions to send him a dream. She was thinking, maybe a ghost form of her could float into his dreams and relay all of the hurt, fear, anger and sadness he'd caused. If _that_ didn't have him showing up at her doorstop bearing gifts and candy, well, she had a backup plan.

"Hermione Granger, you are looking devious," said a slightly-accented voice. She turned to see Padma standing at her library table, giving her a very strange look. "Does this have to do with the reason you've been avoiding me for a couple of days? We have a lunch date today, you know."

"I have not been avoiding you," Hermione said hastily, shutting the books and pocketing her notes before Padma could discover what she was researching. Hermione was planning to reveal her secret today, but a scene in the library would _not_ help matters.

Padma helped her with the spell to return the books to their proper place, even though both of them could preform it in their sleep. "Oh, Mione, don't pull that on me. The last time we talked was when I rescued you from that dreadful park."

"It's such a nice park," was her only response as she allowed Padma to pull her outside. Hermione blinked rapidly at the sudden sunlight, not expecting that after the cool confines of the library. "I don't understand your hatred of it."

Padma rolled her eyes. "Whatever. The _Weaselette_ has decided to crash our lunch, just by the way."

Even though she was kidding, hearing Padma say that reminded Hermione entirely too much of the one person she was trying to forget. Oh, why did it have to be _Malfoy?_ Why not Ron? Okay, well, she didn't exactly want to ever go near a romantic relationship with Ron ever again in her lifetime, but they were best friends. They understood each other. They might - shudder - even make an averagely fine couple. Whereas her and Malfoy was absurd! They'd kill each other within days!

_What happens to a mate if her Veela is killed? _Hermione mused over this, biting her lip. Not that she'd _kill_ Malfoy, but it was worth considering. She prayed there weren't any archaic rules that stated she couldn't give him a good hex or seventeen now and then. "Don't call Ginny the Weaselette," she replied absently, a few beats late.

Padma obviously noticed her distraction but didn't comment on it, instead holding open the door to the little café she'd chosen for this Thursday. Hermione quickly spotted Ginny in a table for three and gave a small wave, pointing to the redhead when a waiter approached them.

"We're with her," Padma said, unveiled disgust in her voice. Hermione rolled her eyes; she wasn't even sure if the two hated each other anymore, and their constant grating was getting on her nerves.

"Behave," she hissed at the Indian girl before sliding in next to Ginny. "Hey, nice to see you here!"

Ginny smiled widely and flipped her hair to one side. She offered her cheek up and Hermione kissed it awkwardly, having never gotten used to this "family tradition." The Weasley boys exchanged affectionate gestures with each other like they were nothing, and she'd never seen one of them greet Ginny without the cheek kiss, but in all honesty, she hated it. "Hey, girl!" Ginny said cheerily. "It's excellent to see you crawling out from under your rock."

"Very funny, Ginny, did you come up with that yourself or did Harry help you?" Padma said sweetly.

Once again, she rolled her eyes. Hermione knew the routine by now: the two would argue for about five minutes, before giving each other an evaluating look and forgetting their animosity in favor of enjoying lunch and weaseling, no pun intended, information out of Hermione. It was easiest just to sit back and watch.

Ginny's smile didn't falter. "Oh, Harry might have helped, but I really can't remember - we were _busy_ after that, if you catch my drift. Not that you would know, actually. How long has it been?"

Padma's eyes narrowed. "Just because I don't sleep with everyone that throws themselves at me doesn't mean I'm completely celibate. Tell me, Ginny, does Harry know exactly how many men he was to compete with?"

"I am no common slag, not like _somebody_ related to you," Ginny sniffed disdainfully. Hermione winced. It seemed like disappearing for a few days, and removing the buffer between them, had resulted in quite a lot of pent up anger. Bringing up Parvati was a low blow. "And I would never cheat on _my_ Harry or my James."

The curious emphasis on _my_ made Hermione's brow furrow. Was she implying that Padma would ever be interested in Harry? Padma sniffed in response. "How _is_ Jimmy, by the way? Upset because Auntie Pads hasn't come over for a bit?"

She winced again. Padma knew perfectly well that James' love of Padma - and his nickname - rankled Ginny to no extent. Not feeling up to another few minutes of this, Hermione interrupted, "It's been five years, you two, and you still pretend to hate each other?"

Ginny glanced over at Padma, who gave a small shrug back. "I don't hate Padma," Ginny said, her lips twitching, "But I need _somebody_ to insult, don't I?"

"Helps me release stress," chimed in Padma right on time. "And I believe we are gathered here today - "

" - This sounds like a wedding - " Hermione started.

" - Or a funeral - " Ginny had to insert.

" - Shut up, guys. We are gathered here today to talk about _you_, Hermione, not us."

Shit. "What about me?"

Padma gave her a stern glare. "Something's up. What is it?"

"Why have you changed your wards? I had boils for _hours, _you prat, until George took them off."

Maybe she'd gone a _little_ overboard after Malfoy had appeared in her bathroom and snogged her against a wall, but it was well within her rights to be cautious! "I have...news," said Hermione cautiously, knowing how rare of an event that was.

"_News_?" Padma gasped overenthusiastically, grabbing a scone from Ginny's plate and eating it. "What?" She spoke around a full mouth.

"You slept with Anthony!"

She flushed scarlet as people shot them wary looks. "Ginny! Shut up! I did _not_ sleep with Anthony, we aren't even together."

"You don't have to be 'with' someone to do stuff _with_ them," said Ginny, obviously finding herself quite witty.

Padma elbowed her. "I still can't believe you have news, Mi."

"Is it a _crime_ to be a private person? Really, you two."

"Out with it!"

"Spill!"

"Let the cat out of the bag!"

"Come clean!"

"Come _dirty_!"

Hermione passed a hand over her eyes. "Draco Malfoy kissed me," she said conversationally. "He's a Veela, the first male one since, well, ever, and I'm his mate."

Ginny carried on laughing, but Padma stopped abruptly. "What the bloody hell?"

_That wasn't exactly how I'd planned to tell them_. In truth, she'd mapped out their every question and formulated a response, had her entire script down and memorized, spent hours planning exactly which word to use - something she'd learned how to do when she had (briefly) wanted to be a lawyer. However, she'd blown the whole thing with her deadpan delivery. "It's true," she said, wanting to get back on track with her speech. "I found out Tuesday. Well, Wednesday, but he kissed me on Tuesday." Merlin, this was hard. _Stay in the speech. _

Ginny stopped laughing. "Well, _damn_, Hermione, this is a right bit of news to keep from us since _Tuesday_. The hell?"

No, she was getting upset...Ginny wasn't supposed to get upset! She was supposed to focus on the kiss! Dammit! "I didn't know what to do," she mumbled, "I planned to tell you today."

Padma was still staring at Hermione with a look akin to horror. "Draco _Malfoy?_ How could you fall in love with _Malfoy?"_

"Padma, snap out of it," said Hermione with a hint of anger. Of all people, Padma should know better than to forget everything she'd learned about Veelas. "Do you think I have a bloody choice? I'm a _mate_, I didn't ask for it. My sole purpose in life was to be born to be Draco Malfoy's mate!"

The darker girl flushed and nodded her head. "You're right, sorry, Mi. I was just shocked - I mean, look what he did to Parvati! He seduced her, and she fell in love with him, and then he screwed her over and left her standing with a broken heart. He isn't safe. Stay away."

"I can't stay away, though," Hermione admitted softly. "I kissed him back! He appeared in my bathroom randomly and I felt like I'd be, well, pulled towards him. I wanted to jump him so badly!"

"Did you?"

"Ginny! Of course not." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Even now, I can feel him. He's working, I think, and is trying to control his anger."

Ginny shook her head emphatically. "That is so damn creepy, Mione."

Padma, she was glad to see, had snapped out of her earlier shock and was beginning to _think_. "Research," she announced. "We need to know more. What have you figured out so far, Mione?"

"Here are my notes..." As she passed them to Padma, with Ginny leaning over for a peek, Hermione allowed herself to believe that a solution would be found, and soon.

She needed one.

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday<strong>

**11:48 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He was asleep, but not quite - in that hazy state of almost-there drowsiness, arm thrown to one side, face cradled by a sweet smelling pillow, not quite aware of anything.

It was then the dream hit him.

Granger was standing in front of him, somewhere he couldn't identify. The location shifted, blurred, changed with each of his inhales and exhales: a leafy forest, a drafty castle, the Black Lake, a serenely happy field. They slurred together until all he could extract was a feeling, something he associated with each location, anger, happiness, sadness and fear.

Granger was looking at him softly, almost regretfully, and when she spoke, it echoed around him, wrapped him in, and in his clouded state he didn't realize he wasn't entirely sleeping. "Why'd you do it, Malfoy? You ruined my life."

_Did not,_ he thought hazily.

"You did," she replied, as if she could read his mind. "You insulted me for seven years, called me a Mudblood and slammed my self-esteem! My whole life was ruined because of _you_."

_What in Merlin's name?_ Draco blinked sleepily, finally awakening. As soon as he was fully aware, his mind immediately started categorizing what happened. _Fact: Hermione Granger, or a form of her, was in my bedroom. Fact: It wasn't a dream...or if it was, it wasn't a natural dream._

Well, _duh_. He wasn't stupid. Draco knew exactly what happened the moment he processed it. Granger had tried to make him feel something - remorse, maybe? - using the Veela bond. "What an amateur effort," he mumbled to himself. "I could do better."

_Why don't you?_

Could he send her a dream? His smile turned wicked, thoughts immediately turning to the obvious. He wasn't normally so perverse, but with only three full days left to seduce Hermione Granger, he was in a constant state of lust. He'd expected her to seek him out, but she'd been strangely silent. He would just have to...prompt things along.

He closed his eyes in concentration, zooming in on Granger. She was getting ready for bed, he sensed, with irritation all over her that her plan didn't work. He also sensed a strange determination, a willingness to try again tomorrow. Which was completely unacceptable.

He waited for nearly half an hour like that, breathing calmly, trying to send sleepy thoughts her way. Finally - _finally - _at about midnight, she fell asleep and he smiled craftily.

Where to begin?

He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to send her, but he did know one thing: Granger needed to be taken down a peg or sixteen. He could just picture her strutting around, waiting until the very last minute to have sex with him, driving him to near insanity. _In fact,_ Draco decided, frowning, _why should I depend on __her__ for my sanity? She should be jumping all over herself for the moment to sleep with me._

A plan started running around in his mind. Could he do it? Could he drive Granger so damn insane that she would _beg_ him to consummate the bond? He could send her a dream or two, and bump into her randomly, make her jealous with Daphne and try to seduce her...

_Yes._

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**1:01 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

"Hermione? Mione, are you even _listening_ to me?"

She looked up innocently from the table and smiled at the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. "Harry, I _always_ listen."

Harry rolled his eyes before wincing. He blinked excessively a few times before meeting her inquiring glare sheepishly. Avoiding the obvious silent question, he simply said, "I know that, but you seem distracted, Mione."

Briefly, she contemplated when, exactly, it became official that she was no longer named _Hermione_, and was instead only _Mi_ or _Mione_ or, shudder, _Herms._ She brushed that thought away and pinned Harry under a stern glare. "What's wrong with your eyes?"

A long sigh, "These bloody contacts irritate the hell out of me, Mi. I blame you."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond when a flash of a memory ran through her head, too quickly for her to concentrate more than a few seconds on it: _his mouth, trailing down her feverish skin, licking and sucking, making her shiver. "I blame you for this," he mumbled, kissing down her neck, tongue flicking out to taste her. "God, it's all your fault."_

She blushed.

The worst part was, she couldn't even ask where that thought had come from. She knew exactly where she'd seen that image before, but she didn't know _why_ her mind had betrayed her by sending the most inappropriate dream she'd ever had.

Harry looked at her oddly. "Okay, I don't blame you?"

"What?"

Now, his interest was _really_ piqued. Harry leaned forward and gave her an infuriatingly inquisitive look. "Okay, Mione, spill. What has you thrown?"

_Oh, last night I had a sex dream about the Veela I'm mated to._ "...nothing."

"The hell, Mi," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. They were sitting in his sun-warmed kitchen, eating a light lunch while waiting for Ginny to return with James from the his doctors appointment. They'd told Harry they were going shopping, but she knew perfectly well that Ginny wanted to grill her about Malfoy. "I know something is up."

_You'll have to tell him eventually. Why not now, when Ginny can come in and do damage control? _"I'm just a little distracted right now."

"I can tell." Her oldest friend reached over, taking her hand in his. "What is it? Are you in trouble?"

_Tell him, you coward! _"It's ASAP," she said, hating herself for lying to him. "It isn't going anywhere. I'm beginning to think I should just get a job at the Ministry and save until I can afford to start it up."

"I have money," he said hastily, his words tripping over each other. He rubbed her hand with his thumb reassuringly in a move that, while undeniably platonic, made her glance towards the fireplace to check for Ginny. "I'd give it to you any day, Mi." Then he let go, and his grin flashed, and they were back to being Hermione and Harry, best friends. He held up his right hand and said, "Siblings, huh?"

"Siblings," she agreed, and couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**1:05 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He hadn't exactly intended to watch her; all he'd done was close his eyes in a moment of exhaustion, think of her just briefly, and an image swam into his mind of Harry Fucking Potter holding her hand, caressing it, murmuring to her, like they were a damn couple or something. He'd kept his eyes closed and watched Pothead pull away and raise his hand, like he was taking an oath or something, and flash a mark on his wrist that made Draco sit up and break the connection.

_Oh no he didn't..._

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. His mate, his one-and-only blah blah blah, the only woman he'd _ever_ get to sleep with the rest of his life without throwing up afterwards, his _mate_, was blood bonded to the man he loathed?

_The Gods hate me._

How on Earth did she manage to get a _blood bond_ with Harry Potter? Mates were allowed to do that? Potter has happily married with a son! Was he cheating on Weaselette with _Granger?_

It wasn't jealousy, as many would think, that drove him to have a mini-tantrum in the middle of his office. No, he wasn't jealous of Potter for being bonded to his mate, for nothing could trump the bond _he_, Draco Malfoy, had. In fact, he'd rather Granger be bonded to Potter than be bonded to him.

Still, there was something he couldn't identify, something that made him inexplicably upset at the thought that Potter was _bonded_ to Granger. He didn't care about her, hardly knew her, didn't even think she was all that attractive. She was a bloody fantastic kisser, sure, but that barely counted for anything. Still, she had no right to disregard her Veela - _him, _for fuck's sake - and make goo-goo eyes with the man she bonded with!

Draco breathed heavily, glaring at the wall opposite him. Oh, he'd show her. He had been planning to bump with her at three thirty, after his 2:00 meeting, but he could squeeze in an encounter before 2, huh? He had - he checked his watch - 49 minutes until he had to be in his office. Plenty of time to remind Granger whom she had to spend the rest of her life with.

_She doesn't really __have__ to spend her life with you, remember?_ A nasty voice reminded him. _She could walk away, no questions asked, and suffer a mediocre marriage the rest of the life, while you'll be driven insane!_

He was practically incoherent with rage. He closed his eyes and pictured her again, and the image fuzzed into his head, flickering, like a ratty moving picture. She was no longer with Potter, instead laughing over something with the woman he was pretty sure she was betraying, if only because Granger was probably sleeping with Potter.

They were walking into a store somewhere, a little Muggle café. Draco pulled a pad of paper out from his desk and scribbled:

_D and T - _

_I'm taking care of something urgent concerning G. Will return before my two o'clock._

_- D_

He charmed it so that only Daphne and Theo could read it, though he had been very vague as a precaution, Disillusioned himself, and disapparated with a crack.

He appeared on the sidewalk, and had to leap out of the way as someone on a - _something_ with wheels - came straight towards him. He looked at the contraption curiously. It wasn't an automobile, which he knew the name of, but had two wheels and a seat...

_Focus._

He breathed deeply, ducked behind the building, and removed the charm. Then, he spent a second or two rearranging his face to a slightly arrogant smile, and sauntered out. Pretending he didn't see Granger and Weasley huddled, whispering, in the corner, he entered and walked straight up to the counter as if he'd done this all his life.

_They're only Muggles_.

"I'd like a coffee," he ordered, winking at the young girl who was prepared to take his order. She blushed and giggled, and asked him which kind - to which he ordered _dark roast_ because he rather liked the sound of that - and received a steaming cup with only a slight bit of apprehension.

The entry: check.

He turned to exit the little shop when he pretended to be struck by something in the reflective surface of the glass door. As he'd thought, Weasley and Granger were sneaking glances at him. Well, Granger was peeking at him, blushing, while Weasley stared in outright curiosity. _No subtlety, that one. _'

He pretended to dismiss it and began to walk out, when a muffled noise stopped him. He'd guessed that Weasley would be incapable of letting him leave without saying anything, and Granger must have clapped a hand over her mouth. He turned and fixed his eyes on their table, and began to lazily make his way over.

The approach: check.

Draco stood in front of their table, wearing his most attractive smirk. "Hello, Weasley," he said, but his eyes never left Granger. "Hello...Granger." Even though she looked angry, he felt her desire awaken as clearly as if he'd felt it himself. Merlin, this would be harder than expected. He felt the pull, the lust and the sexual desire, and it was almost too strong to resist. He wanted to yank her up, turn her around, and kiss those delicious lips of hers.

_Get a fucking hold of yourself, Draco!_

"Malfoy."

His lips turned up slightly in the corner at the hostile tone in her voice. "I hate to interrupt such a cozy lunch date, really, I do - "

Granger jutted her chin out and interrupted him, "Then leave, Malfoy."

He raised his eyebrow, still watching her intently. "Oh, you don't want me to do that," he baited, knowing exactly that he was repeating a line from her dream (with a little variations, he mustn't be too obvious). "You really want me to...leave?"

On cue, her face flamed red.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**1:18 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

As much as she hated to admit it, he looked right sexy walking casually towards them, confidence emulating from every one of his movements.

"Merlin, he's hot," breathed Ginny from her side. "At least you're bonded to someone attractive, yes?"

"He's coming over," she whispered fearfully. "What do I say?"

Ginny only had time to mutter, "Take your cue from him," before Malfoy arrived at their table.

His eyes raked over Ginny dismissively before fixing on her. She felt a flutter in her stomach as he looked at her so intently, like he was remembering their fiery kiss, and suddenly she felt a pang of complete, utterly inappropriate, sexual attraction that held a tinge of _him_ on it.

Was she feeling his emotions?

God, if she hadn't already known it was the Veela bond talking, she might have been affected by his want for her. As it was, it made her feel a little weak.

"Granger," he greeted her, that stupid look on his face revealing that he knew exactly what he was doing for.

"Malfoy," she said angrily. He was trying to toy with her! Use the bond against her!

"I hate to interrupt such a cozy lunch date," he began, derision dripping from every word. "Really, I do."

Before he could finish the undoubtedly insulting sentence, she told him plainly to get the hell out of there. Well, she didn't say it like _that_, but she tried to imply that with ever fiber of her being through the accursed bond.

"Oh, you don't want me to do that," he said, and like earlier with Harry, a figment of her dream appeared in her mind, so vivid and inappropriate that she fought to contain it.

_"Stop," she breathed, pushing with futile resistance at his chest, while he pressed her against the wall. "Let me go."_

_"You can't fool me, Granger," he said huskily before capturing her lips in a punishing kiss. "You don't want me to do that at all."_

_"Let go of me," she mumbled, hating how her resistance fell with every kiss, every move of his sinful lips. _

_He gathered her wrists loosely in one hand, and used the other hand to lift up her chin. He placed his mouth next to her ear and breathed, "Tell me, right now...do you really want me to - " He kissed her. " - leave?"_

She missed whatever he said next, but Ginny caught it and spoke up. "Yes, we want you to leave," she said loyally, even though minutes before she'd been telling Hermione how much she wanted to ask him about the "whole Veela thingy."

"I need to talk to Granger," he said, all humorous traces gone. "It's important. Leave, Weaselette."

"What could be so damned important?" Ginny said before Hermione could stop her, for the latter thought she knew exactly what Malfoy wanted to talk to her about.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**1:34 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

"Oh, she hasn't told you, then?" Draco said, raising his eyebrows.

"Told me what?"

"Yeah, Malfoy. What am I supposed to have told her?"

He grinned, flashing his canines like an animal. "Oh, Granger, Granger, Granger," he said softly, shaking his head. "Don't pretend to be innocent."

He turned to the Weasel. "If Miss Innocent over there doesn't sleep with me - just once! - "

Granger had fear in her eyes, as well as a strange determination that he sort of admired. "I don't have to do anything, Malfoy."

He continued without pause, "If she doesn't sleep with me by the end of Monday night, I'll turn into - " he shuddered visibly for affect, " - someone scarily similar to my aunt Bella. You remember her, don't you?"

Granger's head shot up like a flash, and only then did he remember that Bellatrix had tortured her in his old drawing room, before he'd left the Manor. What surprised him, however, was the pure shock in her expression. Did she genuinely not know that? He'd thought she was the Research Queen, and would have definitely concluded that the consequences would be dire.

"You're telling me," began Weasley, "That Bellatrix Lestrange was insane because she was a _Veela?_ What are you _on_?"

He looked mournful, and was only half-faking his agony when he replied, "She was a Veela, but didn't marry him because her father ordered her not to. She didn't know of the consequence, and was driven insane, mad for blood, trying desperately to avenge the loss of her one mate, for the rest of her life."

As he'd hoped, Weasley turned to Granger with pure, unadulterated shock - and a tinge of disgust. "Merlin, Hermione, just sleep with the damn man!"

Just to drive in deeper, and because he could, Draco arranged his face so that it looked like he was desperately trying to look nonchalant, but failing, and spoke. "I might even _die_."

"Hermione Granger!"

Oh, Granger. He remembered her in school, how she had such an annoyingly expressive face. Her thoughts danced across it, and he'd watch her at breakfast as she spoke with Potter and Weasley. He knew she liked Weasley before she did. He saw her swallow irritation at Potter day after day; he picked up on it when was keeping secrets from them, and could always tell when she'd had a bad night. Though her friends were oblivious, her forehead would crease, she'd bite her lip, she'd conceal a smile, wrinkle her nose, tilt her head to one side...she might as well have hung a sign around her neck reading, "I am feeling _." It was obvious what she was thinking, and he had hated that. Had she no subtlety? Did she have any sense of secrecy?

Now, though, he saw wrinkles appear on her forehead as the corners of her lips pulled down while her bottom lip pushed forward slightly. Her chin was lifted just a tad, and her eyebrows were drawn together. Even without the emotions radiating from her through the bond he could tell: she was irritated at him for telling, mad at herself for not realizing the consequences, and absolutely nonplussed at his news.

_Like a goddammed book._

He checked his watch. Seventeen minutes until his meeting. He glanced at her, decided his business was done, and - with a salute - walked away. If that didn't make her show up at his door, he didn't know what would.

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday<strong>

**12:01 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

He was lying.

She had gone over all the possible explanations in her head, and rapidly deduced that Malfoy was sinking to the lowest of the low: he was _lying_, playing on Ginny's sympathies, and almost dishonoring all Bellatrix's victims by saying it wasn't _her_ fault she went mad and killed thousands, it was her mate. He'd looked at her mournfully then, as if to imply that she was a terrible person if she didn't jump into the sack with him, and he was doing it all for a quick lay! Okay, so there would be "consequences" if she didn't immediately sleep with him.

_If, for reasons out of her control, the Veela's mate is unable to consummate the bond by the next new moon, the Veela will suffer untold consequences. However, a ritual, paired with a sexual act, may be sufficient to rescue the Veela from her fate._

She'd read it, handwritten in a journal of a Veela herself. At least, that was what the bookstore lady had said. It was proof. So she didn't have to sleep with him immediately. She would have sex with him eventually, she'd decided, if only because her sensitive side didn't allow her to let him suffer forever. Just enough so that he regretted every mean thing he'd said to her. It wasn't really a big deal.

It was all cool, then. No need to worry. She would have sex with him, after she knew a little bit about him. Hell, she didn't even know his middle name. There was absolutely no way she'd sleep with a man without knowing his middle name, and whether he preferred ketchup on his french toast as a savory meal or maple syrup in a sickly sweet combination.

He had been extremely obvious, anyway, Hermione decided. She knew a thing or two about Draco Malfoy, having lived for seven years in close quarters with him, and she'd never known him to show emotions unless it suited him past third year. When he was eleven and twelve he couldn't hide his feelings, but she'd noticed a change at the beginning of third year when the thirteen year old Malfoy's face was always smooth and impassive.

He was _purposefully_ acting hurt and mourning and sad. It was acting, plain and simple, and she would _not_ stand for it.

She, Hermione Granger, was better than that. Deserved better than that.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

**4:14 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

"Shit, shit, shit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck!" He managed through trembling lips. He felt feverish, hot, looking through the world with blurry lenses. His body was tense and thrumming, and he couldn't calm his heartbeat if he tried. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her in the dream he'd created, her back against the wall, her pretty mouth opening expressively. He saw her throw her head back and moan, he saw her rake her fingers down his back, he saw her press herself into him an attempt to get more. He heard her say his last name in a voice saturated by lust, all "_Oh, Malfoy, I need it, I need it now, oh, please."_

Whenever he saw her like this, he felt a pain run through himself. The bond was no longer working properly, he thought; he felt her in bits and pieces. Sometimes, he would have an image, so vivid and stark it threw him, and sometimes he'd only hear fuzzy words trailing their way through his ears.

He _needed _her. He _wanted_ her. Even drinking didn't give him a buzz. Theo had sat with him patiently while he ranted and raved and threw things against the wall and ate disgusting combinations of aphrodisiac foods like avocados with basil, almonds and bananas, chocolate-topped oysters, things that made him throw up, but he kept ordering more from Tipsy, more, more, more, until he was stuffed full of carrots and figs and coffee and fennel and garlic and pineapples and various other disgusting foods.

Theo thought he was slightly insane, Draco knew, but he also knew that Theodore Nott wouldn't pass judgement vocally when his friend was torn up like this. Once, some time on Friday, Draco had asked him why the hell he was still there, sitting on the couch, drinking an ice water and watching with faint amusement mixed with concern.

"You think I'd leave you alone in this mood?" Theo had responded, the ice in his glass clinking. "You're liable to offing yourself, and mate, I do not want to deal with _that_ bad publicity."

This had made Draco laugh. That sentence was just like Theo, Theo who was uncomfortable with displays of overt emotion, Theo who always had a joke or insult on the tip of his tongue to lighten the mood, Theo who never tried to fool Draco. Theo.

Where was Daphne?

Draco cradled his head in his hands. He was perched on the side of his bed, staring out of the window, trying not to think of his mate sleeping out there, the insufferable look on her face. What a bitch. She'd learned that, by denying him one little act, he could go _insane_, and she was still unwilling to back down from her prideful stance! One act of sex was nothing, dammit. Why did he have to be with the one girl unwilling to just indulge him for _one_ night, have one night of great sex with the man she would have to be with the rest of her life? Jesus Christ. Hermione Granger was a fucking prude, and that could almost cost him his bloody sanity, maybe even his life.

He got off the bed and out the door in one fluid movement, using his momentum to propel him with little effort. Draco turned to the bathroom and was about to go in, to splash water on his burning face, to do the whole cliché 'look in the mirror and not recognize what you see' bit, but he was struck dumb by a figure sitting in the room to his side.

"Stupefy!"

"Protego!"

Draco scowled and entered his drawing room sullenly. "What the hell are you doing here, Mother? How did you get in?"

Narcissa Malfoy crossed and uncrossed her legs. He eyed the movement suspiciously, unsure if she was genuinely feeling uneasy or simply trying to project the emotion. "Draco," she said, and he hated how her tone was so damn motherly, chiding, like she'd caught him sneaking out after dark. "I didn't think you'd be awake for a few more hours."

"Answer me, Mother." He stood in the doorway, his wand out and lit, casting shadows on her beautiful, icy face.

"A house elf let me in," she said, unfazed by his anger. "Mistress Black-Malfoy still strikes respect into an elf's heart."

"Fear, more like," he mumbled uncharitably. He had four house elves that worked full time at his house, two to clean and two to cook. Tipsy was fiercely loyal to him and wouldn't let his mother in. Her daughter, Lolly, wouldn't either, if only because she was quite enamored by Master Draco. The two that cleaned - Fissy and Fossy, house elf siblings, twins even - were suspect, then.

Narcissa Malfoy waved a hand towards a chair on the other side of the coffee table. "Sit, Draco."

It rankled him how she'd come into his house at four in the morning and ordered him about. "No."

"Don't make this harder, Draco. We desperately need to talk."

"So talk."

Narcissa sighed and rolled her eyes. "You're doing a rather pitiable job with Granger, son. It is Sunday morning, and she has shown no signs of coming to you."

"What do you care?"

She looked genuinely surprised. "I care, Draco. Always. That is why I've taken the liberty of helping the situation out a bit."

His mind raced, picturing all the things she could have done. Threatened Granger. Threatened one of Granger's friends. Slipped a love potion into Granger's drink, or simply hexed her with the _Imperius_. "What did you do?"

"Nothing so bad as to what you're thinking," she gently rebuked him.

"Mother!" Draco passed a hand over his eyes, seriously worried now. "What did you do?"

Narcissa snapped her fingers, and a house elf appeared, cringing and shooting guilty looks at Draco. "M-Mistress Black M-Malfoy," he stuttered. Fissy, damn him. He'd be getting clothes in the morning. "What m-may I get you?"

"A hot chocolate, if you will. One for my son too."

The house elf disappeared with a crack, and a pulse ticked in Draco's jaw. Disregarding this blatant betrayal, he said sternly, "Mother, tell me what you did."

"I thought like you." At his look of surprise, she chuckled. "Oh, Draco, how you make me laugh. You must have realized that Granger's little research firm wasn't going anywhere."

_Oh, shit. _Yes, he had been planning to use that against her, but he was sure his mother's way was infinitely worse. He had been prepared to approach her with offers of an investment. He was going to help her get her business together. He was pretty sure his mother just gave Granger a vault full of money and a note that, to access it, she had to sleep with him.

_Way to reduce my mate into a common whore, Mother._

"I decided to help her out a bit," she repeated her words from earlier. "I gifted her with a large, anonymous sum of money. It shan't take long before she realizes it's from you, and shows up on your step to thank you."

"Do you know Hermione Granger at all?" The outburst flew from his mouth before he could handle it, a sure sign that he was _pissed_. He stood. "Why the - why would you do this? _When_?"

"I did it to help! And Friday night."

That meant -

Oh, dammit. Any hopes of canceling the payment before Granger saw it died and withered to flames. He needed to fix this, but he wasn't really sure he knew how.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

**9:30 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Okay, so she was feeling nauseous. So what if she felt like she was running a cold? She felt depressed and slightly insane, sure, whatever. Did it matter that she found herself wandering aimlessly from room to room, that she felt almost overcome by guilt, that every waking moment she remembered her dreams and wanted to jump Malfoy?

Of course not.

The prat had _bribed_ her. Bribed her! He was basically telling her to whore herself out, and in return, get ASAP up and running!

Like _hell!_

She wouldn't even let Harry pay for it! God, Malfoy was a pretentious, stuck up, overconfident prat. There was no bloody way she was getting near Malfoy with a ten foot pole after this outrage. Who did he think he was? Hell, who did he think _she_ was? Was she no better than a prostitute, in his eyes? Was he so used to getting whatever he wanted with his over-large wallet that he thought it applied to her as well?

Well, she had news for him. It. Didn't. There was no way in the fiery depths of hell that she was going to have sex with him after this injustice.

Hermione sniffed, and took an angry bite of her pasty. He better stay away. If he had the audacity to show up at her door, she'd hex him so badly that he wouldn't even have balls anymore. Let him try to shag her with those!

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

**5:30 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He couldn't believe it had come to this. He couldn't believe he was standing outside her front door, prepared to get on his damn hands and knees, ready to beg for her to listen to him. He couldn't believe his plan had failed, and he couldn't believe it was his own mother that foiled one of the most important business meetings of his life.

Breathing deeply to himself, swallowing past a lump in his throat, he rang her doorbell and immediately threw up a shield. He'd been feeling her anger for days and wasn't about to face it without precautions.

Her door opened, and the first thing he saw was a bolt of red light heading his way. Fuck! Draco stepped to the side. "Granger," he said, hating how hoarse his voice sounded. He looked like shit. He'd tried to comb his hair and wash his face, but all that had achieved was half-neatened blond locks and raw skin from his scrubbing. "Please. I need to talk to you."

"Go away Malfoy!" She was in sweats and a tank top, her hair pulled into a ponytail, her face without makeup and a sneer marring her face. He didn't care. The moment he saw her, he felt the pull so strongly that he took a step forward, and another, until he was in her doorway and her wand was poking his chest. "I mean it. Get the bloody hell out."

"It wasn't me," he pleaded with her. He tried to send every bit of the desperation he was feeling to her. He was nearly driven mad with want and desire and her denial. His totally suave, in control manner was gone, and it left him feeling insecure and out of place. "It was my mother. All of it. Please."

She looked as bad as he did. "Just go away." Then, she laughed, a sound that befuddled him. She was laughing at his pain? "This sounds like a bad romance film. Like you cheated on me and are begging for my forgiveness."

"No, please..."

"You don't even love me. You don't even like me. Hell, we barely know each other anymore. We've barely talked since school, and here you are, begging for me to let you in." Granger shook her head bitterly. "This is bullshit."

She shut the door on him.

No! Dammit! He needed to succeed in this! He closed his eyes, remembering that day in his office when the bags under his eyes disappeared. He concentrated, holding on to the feeling he'd had that day, and nearly cheered when he conjured a mirror and he looked as good as usual. Okay. He may still have a chance.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

**5:34 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She watched him with a handy little spell that turned her door transparent. He had looked about to cry, but then the bond had flared deeply and he had started to change. Now he looked like his normal self, though she still felt his pain and anguish clearly.

Was it his mother? Could it have been? It didn't seem his style, to send her a heap of money, but still. How could she trust him?

He knocked again, and despite herself, she yanked it open. Her wand was still up. He looked at her, obviously trying to affect her with his attractiveness, and said, "Oh, Granger. Do you really think I'd pay you like a whore?"

"Yes," she clipped out.

He rubbed her chin. "Let me come in? Please?"

"No."

He inhaled deeply. "Listen to me, Granger," he said, and she felt a thrill run through him at the predatory tone that entered his voice. "I don't care what the hell your prudish, self-righteous beliefs are telling you. I did _not_ do that. I would _not_ do that. You're being a complete bitch! Maybe it would be better to go insane than to be bonded to you for the rest of my life."

She gasped. That had hurt. Truth be told, it had been a little flattering to have Draco Malfoy pining after her, even if it was only for sex. She had been Draco Malfoy's mate. She had held all the cards. Was he seriousl telling her he'd rather become like his aunt rather than be with her?

"Oh, stop with that charade," she scolded him, hot tears going to his eyes for a second. "We both know the bullshit about your aunt wasn't true."

He looked struck, for a second, before his expression smoothed out. "That was one hundred percent true. Dammit. What can I do to prove this?"

"Veritaserum?" She offered it as a joke, but he nodded emphatically.

"I'll take it."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

**5:45 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

They were sitting in her living room, and he was looking at her intensely. "I want a wizard's vow," he said seriously. "An oath that the only questions you'll ask me will be directly relevant to the consummation today. Nothing about my personal life, my mother's involvement except for the money, and so on."

"I get to call the chases," she said, obviously determined to gain the upper hand. "I'll ask whatever I want to ask."

"How would you feel if I asked you private questions when you had no control to stop it?" He quirked an eyebrow at her and, after a second, she sighed and took the oath. Magic swirled for a second before he grinned and held out his hand. She placed a sealed bottle into it - he didn't want to know where she got Veritaserum - and he broke it open, letting a drop land on his tongue.

Immediately, he felt drowsiness overtake him. He slammed down on his mental shields, a trick he'd learned from Snape. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from telling the truth, but he'd be aware of what he said, and able to twist the wording accordingly.

"Say that the sky is green," she ordered him. It was a standard test, so the oath didn't choke her.

"The sky is," he started, but couldn't finish the answer. He coughed a little and fell silent.

Granger eyed him, and in the still functioning part of the brain he found he liked how intensely she looked at him. "Have you ever sent me money?"

That was easy. "No."

"Has your mother ever sent me money?"

Again, easy. "Yes."

She frowned. "Did your mother send me the money because she thought I was a whore?"

A little trickier, but the reply rolled out of his mouth before she could realize he was censoring some of what the potion wanted him to say. "No. She thought you would seek me in gratitude and I could seduce you."

"Would you have - oh, dammit." She massaged her throat cautiously, as the oath stopped her from asking the next question. "Okay. Um. Did your Aunt Bellatrix, well, was she a Veela?"

"Yes."

"Was she insane because she didn't, uh, sleep with her mate before the next new moon?"

"Yes."

"Could she have been fixed?"

"No." He felt it wearing off, as he'd only taken a drop, but didn't tell her. He might be able to manipulate her by telling a lie when she thought he was being truthful. Calculating and immoral, yes, but he was, first and foremost, trying to survive happily. It was what he did best.

Granger blushed and wrung her hands together before her next question. "Do you love me?"

He felt a little bad but answered "No" anyway. She couldn't have expected him to fall for her! Like she said earlier, they barely knew the post-Hogwarts version of each other.

"Did you - not again!" He smirked to himself as she brushed at her throat angrily. "Okay, um, what is your middle name?"

He couldn't see how this was relevant to her sleeping with him, but he answered, "Potere," anyway as the potion wore off.

Draco hoped she'd keep asking questions, but she checked her watch, sighed, and said, "I believe you. The potion's off, by the way."

Yes! He felt desire rush through him. This time, it captured him, dragged him under. He couldn't resist. "Does that mean," he began, his voice suggestive, "That you're _open_ to...consummation?"

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**5:49 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

The obvious stress on _open_ made her blush, but the obviously sexual way he said 'consummation' maybe, just a little, turned her on.

She knew it was the bond talking, but she still felt a little embarrassed. She refused to answer, and he smirked. Malfoy leaned forward, looking breathlessly attractive, and inquired, "Don't tell me you're going to deny me, Granger." He stood and surveyed her sitting on her couch.

"N-no," she whispered. She meant 'no' to the way he was coming slowly towards her, but realized a beat too late what it implied. She blinked and he was there, pulling her up, his hand cool against her warm one.

She didn't love him, didn't even like him, but the rush she was feeling from him and the bond made her feel heady. And that, she told herself, was why she didn't resist when he put his mouth on hers.

It wasn't a peck. It wasn't even like their first and only other kiss, which had been desperate and confusing for her. This one was hard, almost punishing, and she almost buckled at the force of his lips against hers.

Then she did buckle, and they landed on the sofa, hard. "Oh, ow," she murmured, but he sensed it before she did and moved. And then he was below her and she was on his lap and she was sitting there trying to resist while his tongue flicked at her closed lips.

"C'mon, Granger," he murmured, and his voice was so irresistible that she felt her resolve start chipping away. She wasn't sure how she was managing to resist while she felt like she would burn from lust, but Hermione had great amounts of willpower. "What's the harm?"

"You're _you,_" she said, before realizing that wasn't a reason. "Malfoy, this is so wrong."

He didn't respond to that, only slated his lips against hers. His tongue was demanding, he was demanding, he was taking breaks to whisper to her that he needed her, that she better start kissing him back or he'd go insane already, and she opened her lips to him.

* * *

><p>* <span>START<span>

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

The moment she opened her mouth, he was kissing her deeply, and he could sense that she was lost to it. Hell, he was lost to it. She was squirming on his lap and he was kissing her and her hands were suddenly in his hair and his hands were on his waist, and he felt so alive, so happy, so fucking turned on that he could hardly breathe.

And then little Miss Prude's lips left his, and he felt them traveling down his throat. He groaned, and felt himself harden, her hot little mouth exquisite against his skin. He slid his hand up her body, up her sexy little stomach, and he played with the bottom of her boring cotton bra, his finger sliding under the wire for a tantalizing second before slipping out.

And then it was like something snapped, something twisted in both of them, and she was pulling at his shirt and hers was halfway off. Neither of them could control themselves, and he only had a second to drink in the way her skin contrasted with her blue bra before it was off and on the floor, and she was wiggling against him, trying to get her jeans off, and he was about to fucking explode already and nothing had happened.

Draco barely managed to catch a glimpse of her breasts, with their dark, smoky nipples, before she had thrown herself at him again, the Virgin Princess of Gryffindor tower, attacking his mouth with kisses. He knew, faintly, it was the bond that was making her pant for it, but he didn't care. This would be the last time the bond forced them together. After this, it would be just him and her, and every one of those little "oh!"s escaping her lips would be because _he_ teased them out of her, because she was responding to him and him alone.

His hands found her breasts and she moaned, breaking their lip contact. She threw her head back just like in the dream he'd sent, her hair still in a ponytail, as he brushed his thumbs over her nipples. He grunted, "Divesto!" and her jeans and his disappeared before he lowered his mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)<strong>

The feeling of his cold mouth on her hot skin, on her _breasts_, felt amazing. She couldn't explain it because her brain had shut off, but she just knew she would never get enough of him swirling his nipple in her mouth, biting it gently. It hurt, but she relished in the hurt, exclamations of "More, please, Malfoy, harder," torn from her throat.

She had never felt so turned on, so dripping wet, so lustful before. Her jeans had disappeared, but she was left in panties and him in boxers. She could feel him against her core and she wantonly ground against him, all of her reservations completely disappeared. She felt intoxicated.

He stopped kissing her chest, looking up at her with a sinful expression. "Oh, so you like that, huh, Granger? You like having your enemy's mouth on your tits, huh, yeah?"

And oh, Merlin, that word on his lips made her face flame red, but it also made her more aroused. His hair was mussed from her fingers, and he was her _enemy_, but the image of Draco Malfoy talking dirty - even slightly - would stay in her head forever, she knew.

"Yes," she breathed out, feeling a little embarrassed at her response before the uncomfortable feeling was swept away. He reached out and she heard a snap before her hair tumbled to her shoulders.

"Oops," he said, looking entirely unapologetic. He reached out and buried his hands in her hair. Feeling embarrassed, as her hair was unwashed and probably frizzing, she tried to jerk her head out of his grasp but his firm hands stopped her. "Oh, bad girl," he scolded, his lips curving. "You look fucking sexy with your hair around your shoulders."

* * *

><p><strong>(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)<strong>

She looked different with her hair down, entirely different than the Granger he knew. She blushed prettily and he growled low in his throat before yanking her closer to him. "I need you," he told her frankly. Maybe it wasn't the best way to go about this situation, but he needed her now, quickly. Yes, he wanted to feel her mouth on his erection, he wanted to taste her, he wanted to do so many things to her, but he didn't have the patience right now. Now, he just wanted to fuck her, hard and fast, and see her turn into a shuddering, orgasmic mess. They had the rest of their lives to experiment.

"I need you too," she told him boldly, and then flushed a little deeper. Mentally, he filed away the interesting reaction of hers - one minute she was grinding against him, the next she was blushing like a virgin - and simply pushed her up.

She stood in front of him, clothed only in a sensible pair of panties, looking confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Stop talking," he ordered her, his natural urge to dominate taking over. "Take off your panties."

"Malfoy - "

"Stop talking." He mentally got rid of his boxers, and she stared at him, the blush spreading down to her neck and chest. God, she looked fucking perfect. "I'm waiting."

* * *

><p><strong>(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)<strong>

She should yell at him for ordering her around like that, but it made her shiver in desire. She liked seeing the look in his eyes, liked hearing the commanding note in his voice. She liked it all, and dropped her panties in a move that she'd meant to be sexy but only turned out fumbling and inexperienced.

He pulled her down onto the couch horizontally and rolled over her, muttering a spell, one that she assumed was the wizarding equivalent of a condom. He looked sexy like that, over her, hair falling in his face. And then, in a move that made her gasp, he reached down and trailed a finger through her folds and on her clit.

"Oh, shit!"

His smirk was impossibly pleased with himself. "You couldn't be wetter if you tried, Granger."

"'I need you," she told him in response. Maybe the words were forced out by the mysterious bond and maybe the 'Hermionus-coitus' as one of her old boyfriends had termed her sexual side was that bold. Whatever the reason was, she said it, and he entered her.

She was faintly aware of his mouth mumbling obscenities above her, but she was lost. He was moving in her and she was clawing at his back, almost, telling me, ordering him, to go harder and faster. She felt a delicious itch and arched her back, wanting more.

"Fuck, Granger, oh damn," he breathed and, hooking arm under her leg, changed the angle so that he was hitting her deeper, faster. They both knew they wouldn't last long, they couldn't, not at the feverishly fast pace they were setting, but Hermione didn't care.

"Malfoy, please," she begged, and his hands found her clit, playing with it, rolling it, even as he did that _thing_ with his mouth on his breasts. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, threw her arms around his neck, and gave herself in to every bit of this forbidden sex.

* * *

><p><strong>(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)<strong>

She felt so good, clenching around him, moaning with that sexy mouth of hers, sounding surprised every time he hit her. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy and she was rolling her hips against his, trying to draw him in deeper with each thrust.

"I'm going to come," he groaned in her ear, embarrassed that he was about to explode like a randy fourth year experimenting for the first time.

"I don't care," she breathed sexily. "God, you feel good. Shit, Draco, I think I'm going to - to, oh, shit, I'm going to come."

He fucking loved that _he_ was making her lose control like this, and he tried to ram into her deeper. God, he wasn't going to last, please Merlin make her come, _pleasepleaseplease_, he was about to explode, oh, shit!

She was shuddering around him, and it was as glorious as he'd pictured it, completely lost. And then he was coming and he wasn't exactly conscious, and the bond was purring and he could practically hear her thoughts screaming as the bond was satisfied and he really became her Veela and her, his mate.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Welll, I hope that didn't turn away any of my readers! A lot happens in this chapter! I have no teaser because I have no idea what's happening in the next chapter, haha. I gave you everything I had. And to think, I started out this fic a few chapters ahead...and then deleted like all of it because I didn't like the direction it was going. I need reviews on the sex scenes. Obviously, they aren't as intense as my smutty one-shots, though I do warn that they will probably get more and more explicit as their relationship develops. Review? With suggestions? Please, be like "I thought it was totally unrealistic - Hermione was so bipolar!" or whatever. I won't be offended. pleasseee.**

**Okay, review begging aside, thank you to those that DID review. MADE MY LIFE. Really. Today I got up and, after days of no reviews in my inbox, I had two...and that motivated me to write like 7,000 words :D**

**(did anyone notice that today is 6/9? Hahaha. Jeez. I'm so immature)**

**Thank you! Cheers! Adios! Addio!**


	8. Chapter 7: Let's Go

**A/N: Readers that are still with me: here are 7,500 words for you! I know, I know, I promised more, but I got back from a month without internet access yesterday and typed this all up in a fury this morning, and I figured, well, here you go to know I am still alive and have every intention of finishing this story!**

**Oh, and I re-read all of my old chapters, and I apologize for any dropped plot lines or confusing sentences that I winced at. Perhaps one day I'll go back and edit them out. I was so inconsistent with Draco's knowledge of Muggle phones; one chapter he knew what they were and disapproved, the next he had no idea what it was, and the next he had some totally new idea. I apologize!**

**Anyway, go have a read and tell me what you think!**

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**9:30 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He hadn't been able to hear her thoughts.

Her emotions, sure, he felt subtly, as if the reactions he was used to picking up were tinged with real feeling. He could tell when she was angry by the way her eyebrows lifted and her chin jutted forward, just so, her face a mask of defiant disbelief, as if she were questioning his decision to make her upset. Before last night, he had been able to feel her anger as if he himself was outraged, but it was different now. Her emotions were undeniably hers, and he struggled to name the sensation they carried. It was almost a visual thing, though he theorized that manifested because of his perceptive nature. He had always been able to see interactions and how they changed people. Draco had hoped that, after the bond was completed, he would be able to hear every thought Granger had, but to no avail.

He could only pray that it worked both ways.

Draco stretched luxuriously, feeling the bones crick in his neck and back. He surveyed his surroundings, freezing when he noticed a change.

Somebody had re-arranged his books.

He mentally ran through the list of people capable of breaking into his penthouse. Daphne and Theo probably could, if the pair were determined, and Narcissa was at the top of the list. But, when would the intruder have come?

After the...events of last night, Granger had begun retreating into herself. He could tell, even without the influx of emotions coming his way, that she was shutting down, trying to run away. So he'd hexed her. A Sleeping Spell or five later, she was snoring peacefully and he was on his way to mull over the events in his own bed.

Tired and overwhelmed, he had only ran through a few cursory detection spells before taking a shower and collapsing into bed. Draco had spent nearly half an hour sorting his thoughts and emotions, placing them in their proper categorization beneath his mental shields. Now, with a resigned sense of disappointment, Draco conceded that he had probably been too wrapped up in this mental exercise to notice a subtle intruder. If such a person had broken in during this time and left the wards open, he or she could have possibly snuck in once Draco had fallen asleep.

"Dammit!" Draco passed a hand over his face. _This_ was why he adhered to an extremely strict security procedure! One lapse and somebody would enter his home!

The next thing to do, quite logically, was to determine whether anything had been stolen. Draco cracked his knuckles and rolled out of bed, walking quickly over to the place where a slim, red leather book had been switched with another of identical shape and size. Nobody would notice, of course, if they weren't aware of the numerous glamours placed on each book. He had shelves and shelves of "identical" books, organized in a method only he could decipher.

Paranoid, yes, but he had cause to be.

Any lingering thoughts of Granger fled Draco's mind, and the man started casting strings of spells, some nonverbal and some quite out loud. He passed his wand over the book that was moved, and his wand clattered to the floor as a sharp sting ran through his hand.

Draco muttered an expletive, partly in response to the pain and partly because that simple spell had revealed the intruder's identity far quicker that he'd anticipated. He recognized that spell, as he'd helped develop the bloody thing. Biting his lip, face stony, Draco turned to the next shelf and repeated the process, hoping beyond hope that he'd detect another presence to explain away his discovery.

Only after he'd detected the entire room, and directed his elves to search the rest of the flat, did Draco cease checking and move to get changed. He was still standing shirtless, clad only in boxers, after all. Not a suitable attire if he had to confront one of his dearest friends.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**10:01 AM**

**(Theodore Nott's P.O.V)**

Theo had never seen Draco quite like this before.

Oh, he looked impeccable, that was hardly to be denied. Theo's sharp eyes took in every detail of Draco's clothing, noting the imposing aura they gave. However, he hadn't spent the majority of his life observing people for no reason, and Theo found it very easy to sense the tension and agitation rolling off his friend where others would have dismissed it.

Theo knew better than to simply inquire to what the cause of the problem was. Instead, he stepped back from his front door and allowed Draco to come inside without question. "You caught me at a bad time," Theo said conversationally. "I was just conducting a set of experiments on the people walking below."

As he'd thought, this prompted a fleeting smile from his friend. Draco knew of Theo's "people-watching" hobby, as Theo had infected Draco with it as well. The two had spent countless hours in some café or building, watching people pass by and guessing as to what their next actions would be.

"What is it this time?" Draco said, his posture minimally more relaxed.

Theo led the way into his warmed terrace where they could spy on those below. "It was a nasty breakup," he confided, sitting down in his chair and picking up an abandoned scone. "Though I believe the pair has departed by now, aided by a very subtle Lust charm."

Draco snorted and leaned back. "Kinky."

"What can I say?" Theo shrugged, allowing a small smile to play on his lips. "I anticipate their relationship's renewal by Wednesday."

"With no outside help, of course."

He laughed and made another sardonic comment as his house elf appeared, unbidden, with more snacks and tea. A few well placed comments from Theo, as well as two scones covered in raspberry jam, had relaxed Draco enough for the other man to launch his comment.

"Is it Daphne, or Narcissa?"

He saw Draco stiffen, searching his face for any signs of manipulation or disloyalty. He dropped his masks and left his expression open, honest, and finally Draco sighed and replied, "I think Daphne broke into my house yesterday, Theo."

Well, shit. What the hell was she thinking? Theo wanted to shake his female friend until she realized that, while Draco was in this mood, until him and Granger had some semblances of happiness, she couldn't fuck around with him. The whole relationship with Zabini, well, Theo suspected was a childish way of making Draco notice her. It was exactly what Draco did _not_ need right now.

"Blaise Zabini," Theo commented, his mind jumping to the one weak link in this scenario. He hoped fervantly, for both his best friends' sakes, that it was the slimeball that was responsible for the Incident.

"It was definitely Daphne's magical signature, Theo, not to mention her spell." His words were precise, measured, and Theo's worry level was upped a notch.

"What did she take?"

Draco bit his lip, and Theo almost missed the sudden flash of fear that ran across his face. His words, however, held only a slight curiosity and irritation. "Nothing, she just rearranged my books."

Theo mentally frowned. Draco wasn't afraid, he knew that much. No, the other man was annoyed and betrayed, but not scared, and certainly not uneasy enough to warrant his bloody terrified look. "What's picking at you, then?" Translation: _Why are you afraid?_

Draco, for once, didn't stop to compose a structured response. "I don't understand why she's acting like this!" He was up and pacing nearly before Theo could blink, reminding the latter once again of how dangerous Draco could be when upset. Years of conditioning and months of torture under the Dark Lord had done that to him. _But,_ he reminded himself, _those same years hardened Draco's self control even further. _

"She wants you to notice," Theo said calmly, keeping a cautionary hand on his wand. "Don't."

Draco didn't verbalize his question, but the intent was clear in the way he cocked his eyebrow at Theo.

"Just ignore it, reinforce your wands. Spend time with Granger. Let me take care of Daph."

Draco, quite obviously, did not like this idea. Theo anticipated an argument and tensed in preparation, but his friend surprised him once again by collapsing into his chair. "I knocked Granger out with a spell and left," he said, his lips curving into a smirk. "She's bloody pissed, I can feel it."

He tried not to laugh. "How's the bond, then?"

"I can still feel her emotions," Draco said, and accoied another scone towards him. "She's terrified. Doesn't know what to expect." _Neither do I._

Theo didn't comment, only nodding slightly to let his friend know that the hidden message was received as well. So, Draco was scared - who wouldn't be, in that situation? Instead, Theo turned the topic to safer matters, sensing his friend's need to retreat. Draco was always like this after he'd revealed even the slightest bit of insecurity. "It is Monday, Draco, you're expected at work. I have a meeting at eleven."

"I have a meeting at...10:30, blast it, it's the stupid budget. I don't know where all that money is disappearing to."

Theo checked his watch. "You have five minutes, and you look like shit."

Draco laughed genuinely. "Thanks, Theo," he said sarcastically, but Theo knew perfectly well that the words of appreciation were for much more than he let on. That was how they operated, how most Slytherins operated, padding their sardonic comments with deeper meaning.

Theo simply nodded his head. "Now, after you've eaten all my lovely scones, go make some money."

"I'm the boss, not you," Draco said, a small smile playing around his lips, before he apparated out.

Theo sighed and stretched and stood. Dealing with Draco was occasionally exhausting, but his friend had done so much more for him, so who was he to complain? Without Draco, well, Theo shuddered to think of his future.

_Stop thinking about the past, Theodore, you have to go snap Daphne out of her insanity._

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**10:45 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He had two major problems to contend with at the moment: 1) Daphne wasn't at work and 2) Granger hadn't contacted him, even though he _knew_ she was awake.

He couldn't figure out which to be more irritated at. On one hand, Daphne _clearly_ skipping out on a budget meeting where there were hundreds, thousands of galleons on the line was simply unacceptable! On the other, he hadn't expected Granger to be so disinterested in him after they'd bonded. Earlier, he had felt a burst of fear and unease that, quite honestly, he could emphasize with - where the bloody hell were they supposed to go from here? - and had expected a short missive demanding his presence so they could discuss the problem. Instead, he only had to deal with her rapidly changing emotions, that had quickly given him a headache as he tried to puzzle out what to do next alongside with Granger.

He didn't want to approach her, that was for sure. How could he, after he'd humiliated himself last night knocking at her door? No, it was her turn to seek him out, and if she didn't, well, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Which to pick, however, was the main question; he didn't know her all that well, after all, even with the extra advantage. Would she get so jealous as to confront him, if she saw him with another woman? Or would that simply drive her to ignore him more? He didn't know, and that infuriated him to no end.

But, _Daphne!_

Draco groaned to himself inaudibly. Torn between two woman. Heh. Heh. Draco could handle a number of things simultaneously, but the situations concerning Daphne and Granger, in addition to all the other worries and concerns that accompanied _Sleeping Dragon_, not to mention his anxiety about his mother, well, even he was a bit overwhelmed.

"...we expect a five percent increase in profits by the end of this fiscal year, namely by 30th of June, which, as we all know, is only about a month away..."

Was it already nearly June? Damn, that meant it was his birthday in...Draco ran some mental calculations...six days! Fuck! He hadn't even _started_ to plan that shit! It had to top last year's, when he'd left at midnight for his first visit to the park. Speaking of which...

He hadn't been to the park in _days_. Was she still going? Or was he getting better at resisting the bond?

The man to Draco's left cleared his throat and began shuffling papers. "We at _Morris & Morris_, as your principal investors, would like to know more about the, shall we say, _discrepancies_ in the budget."

Draco really hated that word. He raised an eyebrow at the goblin across the table. After their rocky beginning to their changed partnership, Magnook had proved to be a valuable asset to the company. He'd rearranged numbers with a ferociousness that shocked the blond, hiding the missing money from their weekly reports beneath layers and layers of galleons.

Magnook cleared his throat and began speaking in slightly condescending tones. Draco tuned him out, turning a page in his pad of Muggle paper. He used it in his office simply because it was much cheaper to obtain than parchment was. On it, he began writing a list of tasks to do, for all the world looking like the bored, rich, CEO he was meant to be.

**1. Granger. We need to discuss the terms of our situation. (Tuesday)**

**2. Daphne. What the hell was she doing in my penthouse? We **_**definitely**_** need to discuss her breaking and entering, not to mention that sordid affair she's delighting in. (Wednesday)**

**3. Mother. I know she's planning something after yesterday - contact the investigators. Confront her directly, she won't be expecting it. Perhaps today after my last meeting of the day? (Monday)**

**4. Find my bloody 3,000 galleons! (AS SOON AS POSSIBLE)**

**5. Write those damn employee evaluations. (Monday. This Monday, dammit, not next Monday).**

He stopped at five tasks, as was his custom. He didn't want to risk overwhelming himself. Beneath his list, he jotted down a hasty schedule, and pulled out another sheet of paper. In order to fully maximize his time, he decided, it would make the most sense to get those evals finished during this endless meeting.

Nicholas Brown, he wrote at the top, beginning the first of many.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**4:30 PM**

**(Narcissa Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Vedette was proving quite useless as a spy. She was becoming entirely too attached to Draco, and Narcissa despaired of ever getting useful information out of the painting.

She knew her son must be getting suspicious. It was the best plot, really; she wasn't doing a single thing, but she was sure Draco was driving himself mad with ideas. He never could contain his paranoia, after all. After the incident concerning Miss Granger had blown up quite spectacularly yesterday, she was sure he would storm into the Manor and demand an explanation. Yet, it was nearly five, and there was no sign of her errant son.

The bell above the Floo chimed gracefully, and Narcissa raised an elegant eyebrow. Who would be calling at this time? Perhaps it was Draco. She didn't bother checking her undoubtedly flawless appearance, instead snapping her fingers.

A house elf popped into existence - she wasn't sure which one. "Check the identity of the person trying to Floo in, discretely," she ordered it coolly, and the elf returned in a heartbeat.

"It is Sulia Zabini, ma'am," the elf squeaked.

Sulia was calling? Narcissa could hardly imagine why the Zabini was dropping in unexpectedly. She briefly toyed with ignoring her simply for the satisfaction and then decided that her old grudge with the Zabini family wasn't worth pursuing, especially when the news leaked out that the two woman had tea together, the Malfoy name would rise a fraction in the pureblood circles.

"Let her in."

When Sulia Zabini glided into Malfoy Manor, she found Narcissa sitting pristine on a pale pink couch. "Sulia," the latter said, standing as gracefully as she could manage. "It's a pleasure."

"I claim the pleasure, Narcissa," said Sulia in a traditional greeting that Narcissa immediately felt comfortable with.

"Sit, please, and my elf shall bring us tea." The two seated themselves, and Narcissa smiled at the other woman with no hint of the animosity they normally shared. It wouldn't do if it was painfully obvious how much Narcissa hated the Zabini matron. "May I inquire as to the reason for this visit, Sulia?"

Tea popped into existence on the lovely glass coffee table, and Sulia swirled her spoon inside the dainty cup. It was a pretentious gesture, furthered as the other woman took nearly two minutes to take a sip of tea and answer. Narcissa was sure Sulia was attempting to be condescending, but Malfoys were excellent at winning these little games, and Narcissa had the Black upbringing to steel her resolve. "You see, Narcissa," said the brunette, dressed in a pink robe that nearly matched Narcissa's couch. This was intentional, she was sure, intending to remind Narcissa that Sulia had been in Malfoy Manor plenty of times before and wasn't intimidated. "It has to do with young Draco."

_Young Draco_. Sulia was proposing marriage again, was she? Well, Narcissa wouldn't marry her son off to Sulia's daughter, Deteria, even if he wasn't bonded to the Granger girl for life. It wouldn't do to turn away Zabini yet, however, as Sulia might let something slip in her proposal. "Deteria is with Gregory Goyle, I thought?"

Sulia looked disgusted. "Goyle isn't suitable for my daughter," she said tartly, and Narcissa agreed. "Especially after the shame my Blaise has inflicted on our family." Narcissa worked her mouth to avoid a smile. Ah, how funny she found it that Sulia's beloved son had turned out so shamefully. He was, if she wanted to be crude, a man-whore of the highest order. "No, Narcissa, don't joke. I shan't laugh."

_We'll see who's laughing_, Narcissa thought viciously, even as she gave the perfect smile - meaningless, tinged with slight embarrassment. "Oh, Sulia, but I do enjoy lightening the mood. However, if you aren't in the mood for pleasantries, we shall cut to the chase." She nearly smiled in satisfaction as the other woman's smug face dropped a little. Implying that Sulia was too impatient and forgoing the traditional pleasantries was quite the insult. "You wish for Deteria to marry Draco."

"It's the perfect union," Sulia said serenely, folding her hands on her lap. "The Malfoys have much to gain from the Zabinis, and vice-versa."

"Do tell." Narcissa was pushing the limits of her rudeness, but Sulia simply smiled.

She took a sip of her tea, setting it down with the slightest clatter. "Oh, Narcissa, don't be obtuse. We both know Draco is doing excellently on his own. He doesn't need us to become more favorable in any society."

_He doesn't need you._ It was left unsaid.

"You, on the other hand, need our resources."

What 'resources' were being offered wasn't mentioned as well. There was no need.

Narcissa stirred the last remaining grains of sugar until they dissolved. "And what do you need from us?"

"I'm sure you can guess," Sulia said, smirking. "After the war, a great amount of our fortunes were dedicated to rising unscathed."

Narcissa exhaled. Typical Sulia Zabini. She was offering a ticket for Narcissa to rise again in wizarding society in exchange for money. A decade ago, Narcissa would have taken it. Now?

She was extremely tempted to take it. But what of Granger? "I shall have to think it over," she said, as was the standard response. "We shall make an appointment to discuss it further."

"Of course," said Sulia, who rose. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"The pleasure was all mine."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**7:30 PM**

**(Daphne Greengrass' P.O.V)**

She had been nearly asleep when Theo dismantled her wards and stepped through easy as anything.

That was one of the curses of having criminally talented friends.

"Fuck you," Daphne said, her voice hoarse and guttural from sleep. She coughed and cleared it, and sat up abruptly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You look beautiful, Daph," Theo said mockingly and took a seat on Blaise's new leather armchair. He surveyed her mussed hair, plainly made up face, and grumpy expression and smirked.

Daphne flicked her wand and instantly a nearly tangible wave of beauty passed over her face. Theo rolled his eyes. She rolled her eyes right back. He may taunt her all he wished, but she enjoyed the prettier version of herself, and she knew he did too. "Leave, Theodore."

He cocked an eyebrow at her and ran his fingers gently down the leather arms of the new armchair. "Well this is quite a nice armchair," he said lightly. "Has a real _man's_ touch to it, yeah?"

Daphne sniffed. Theo may think he was subtle with his hidden meanings buried beneath meaningless comments, but she had his number, and it was less than hers. "Blaise bought it for us," she said, and her lips curved up at the memory. It had been sweet, how excited he'd been, how he looked at her adoringly and asked for her approval.

"Say no more," Theo said, and gingerly got up. He brushed the seat of his pants off and looked at it with a poorly hidden nauseated expression. "I can fill in the sordid details on my own, thanks."

She wanted to take offense, but she knew that was what he expected, so instead she smiled secretively and said, "Jealous?"

He took a seat on the couch next to her. "Of having a fuck-buddy? Can't say I am, Daph."

"Blaise isn't just a fuck-buddy," she said angrily, and then subsided as she realized he'd provoked a reaction out of her. "He's my boyfriend."

"_Really_." Theo nodded infuriatingly in that 'whatever-you-want-to-believe' manner of his that always rankled her. "Seems you have an excess of extra time, however. Missing Draco?"

Daphne furrowed her brow. What was he talking about? Did the prat really believe she was still in love with Draco? Okay, so she may harbor feelings for him, but they were no more than she had for Theo, and she was hardly in love with _Nott. _It was just a by-factor of having two attractive, intelligent men as her closest friends. She was sure Granger could emphasize, seeing as she'd been set to marry Weasley and even Daphne conceded that Potter wasn't ugly. "Draco hasn't been by to see me, so I suppose I am," she said carefully, placing the blame on their blond haired friend.

"What were you doing today at approximately ten-thirty?"

Daphne gave him a startled look. She had been with Blaise, actually, but what did that matter to him? "Hello, Umbridge," she said. "How are you doing today?"

She got a nasty look in return for her little joke. What was he doing? Had all the men in her life honestly gone 'round the bend? "Honestly, Daphne, answer the damn question."

"You were never as good a questioner as you thought you were," she sighed but went along with his little game if only to decipher the root. "I was with Blaise, Theo."

His lips pursed and his face turned stony in an instant. "What would you say if I told you that _Sleeping Dragon_ lost six hundred million galleons today because you were fucking Blaise Zabini?"

"I'd say you were lying," she said immediately, though her heart was racing. Was that true? She knew the _Dragon_ was on the brink of losing money, but not by much. Surely _she _hadn't been the cause of such distress? Daphne knew quite well that, without her, her boys could barely choose a shirt to match a pair of trousers, but Draco was a shrewd businessman and Theo extraordinarily observant. They could keep a business running for a few days while she left her habitual residence at her office to spend a little time alone, yes?

He sneered at her, and the disgust wasn't concealed. "_Accio_ Daphne's scheduling book," he said, not even bothering to lift his wand, and the little black book she always carried sailed towards him. He caught it one-handedly, although Theo had never been sporty, and thumbed it open to the correct page.

Daphne did nothing. Her mind was racing, and a steady pounding had begun to settle in her heart. She _knew_. She was connecting the dots quite rapidly and she knew. She'd scheduled this meeting herself. Monday, ten-thirty, to discuss money with goblins and investors alike. As she realized this, more details began creeping in, unbidden - how Draco had whined about the time conflicting with Theo's meeting, how she'd snidely told him not to be late in any circumstance or she'd _Avada_ him to hell and back. How had she forgotten?

Theo began reading out loud. "Monday, May 31. Ten-thirty AM. Meeting - Room 3B with goblins and principal investors." He lowered the book and fixed her with a look so fucking resigned that she immediately became defensive. How dare he look at her as if she were beyond hope? "You used to be able to see when I was lying," he said sadly, but turned his face to hide the momentary weakness. She caught it anyway. "What's happened to you, Daph? We haven't lost money, but Draco was thrown for a right one since you didn't show up. And where were you? Shagging somebody you haven't seen for five years." He shook his head and stood. She didn't. It was uncommon for Theo to show this much emotion, and she realized with a shock that her behaviour had actually hurt her men.

"I haven't..." She knew the denial was useless. When Slytherins began acting like Gryffindors, she couldn't contend with the world.

"I'll be leaving now," said Theo, and he walked over to her Floo. "Zabini may be home, and he can't find you and me alone in your living room." He threw a handful of powder in the fire and murmured his address. He stepped in, but before it whisked him away, he turned, and his parting words sliced at her. "Don't contact Draco, okay? He can't handle hearing from you right now. I'll let him know you're taking a little vacation from work."

And he spun away.

Daphne collapsed on her couch. How had this happened? Only a few weeks ago she was part of the Silver Trio, as the press so aptly named them, and feeling on top of the world. Then, Granger had somehow appeared, Blaise had been the one to steady her on her feet, she'd broken into Draco's house to give him a wake-up call, and neither of her best friends wished to speak to her.

What had gone wrong?

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

**8:07 PM**

**(Theodore Nott's P.O.V)**

As he exited the Floo into his own house, he couldn't help but smile. That had gone quite excellently. It wasn't often that he had the chance to act with such finesse - that was Draco's claim - but he found he enjoyed it quite tremendously. He hated seeing Daphne like that, and even though his parting words were chosen carefully and planned over, he'd meant them. He didn't even have to mention last night to know Daphne was thinking it over, probably regretting it. Theo didn't know what she'd meant by it, but he was sure she would approach him by Thursday at the latest, and he was patient.

He would bring her around. He knew he could.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday<strong>

**1:01 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Granger looked tired.

That was Draco's first thought. Her hair was taking up twice as much space as usual, and her eyes were surrounded by bags. What was she doing to herself?

Draco sighed and shook his head. The sooner they cleared up this little situation, the better. He had been thinking over the weekend and decided that finding a cure should be their primary concern; hadn't Theo and Daphne told him, all those days ago when Narcissa barged into _Sleeping Dragon_, that they'd had a plan? All the fuss over press conferences had pushed this alleged plan into the back of Draco's mind, but now he was curious. Never mind that Daphne wasn't speaking to him and he wasn't exactly inclined to speak to her. If there was some way to rescue him, he'd put aside his hatred of Blaise Zabini.

Even though they were technically bonded, Draco still refused to believe it was everlasting. The problem with Veelas is that there were hardly any records of them. Veelas were private people, and the bond was something neither mate or Veela wished to speak about. Despite these setbacks, Draco wasn't overly worried; between Granger, Theo, possibly Daphne, a Ministry researcher or two and _him_, they could craft a solution.

"Malfoy?" Her voice was tired and soft. He stiffened. What was she doing? "Do you think we can break the curse? Or should we just try to live with it?"

Wasn't he just thinking about breaking the curse? "Break it," he said determinedly. "There's no other answer."

She sighed, a long, drawn out sigh, and Draco was worried slightly by the resigned feeling emanating from her. "Sometimes I think it'd be so much easier," she said dreamily, sadly, quietly, "To just accept it. To know that, no matter what, there's somebody out there who has to love you no matter what."

"I don't love you."

Her laugh was chilling. "And then I remember why I hate you."

He didn't reply. There was nothing to say. They hated each other. Both knew it. What was the point of fighting the natural order of things? She may be a bloody brilliant shag when the bond had something to say about it, but they didn't like each other. "Meet me at _Delia's_ today at three o'clock," he said, uncomfortable with the situation.

"Your mother owled me, did you know that?" It was random, sudden, and Draco flinched. What? When? Why the hell would his mother owl Granger?

_Don't be stupid, Draco_, he reminded himself. It was obvious why Narcissa would contact Granger. She was clearly trying to turn Granger onto her side, gain her sympathies, and through his mate, get to Draco. "I expected a development like this," he said, trying to remain in control. "When?"

"A couple of weeks ago," said Granger, and there was amusement in her voice. "And don't pretend you knew that would happen. I can feel you freaking out."

Bloody bond. He clenched his teeth, and then let it go. "Fine," he said curtly. "But now that I think of it, it's a strategic move that makes sense. What did the letter say?"

Granger lifted her head and stared at him with unerring accuracy, even though the swath of leaves that separated them. "You might as well come out. I know where you are."

He didn't move.

"Fine." She bit her lip and cocked her head. It was a move he recognized from their school days, when she was debating how much of the truth to tell her idiot friends. "I don't suppose I shall tell you, then. It's private."

He stepped out from the shadow of the trees. "Listen to me, Granger," he said slowly, enunciating each word. "My mother having an interest in you doesn't bode well for any parties involved...except, maybe, her."

"She told me she wished to speak to me in a matter concerning her son," Granger continued in that strange, measured tone. "I didn't reply."

_Thank Merlin for that_. "Don't contact her," he ordered in complete sincerity. "Don't acknowledge her presence."

"Why do you hate her so much?"

Where to begin? Draco looked up with a wry smile. "I don't necessarily hate her, Granger," he began, ignoring her snort of disbelief. "But she relinquished her claim on me as her son five years ago, and I'm not inclined to let her get it back."

Granger's sigh was slow and sad. "If the situation was the other way around, and you abandoned her, would you want her to forgive you?"

That was a ludicrous question on many levels, namely because he wouldn't have abandoned her, not then. "Granger, I joined the fucking Dark Lord for my mother. Do you really think I'd abandon her after that?"

"What if it was for her safety?"

He eyed her carefully. What in Merlin's name was she getting at? Draco sighed softly, barely audibly, as he thought that one over. He couldn't imagine any situation where him leaving her to fend for herself would be beneficial to her. "Granger..." he began before he expelled a second sigh. "Don't worry about me and my mother, okay? Just, don't contact her." She began to say something but he stopped her. "I have to go. Meet me tomorrow at Delia's at three o'clock, ask for Malfoy, and do look presentable."

He disappeared.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday<strong>

**1:34 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Her parents were still in Australia.

In a way, she sort of emphasized with Narcissa; oh, it was an awful move to be sure, abandoning her only son, but Hermione knew it wouldn't have been easy to come back.

How was she supposed to release her parents from the memory charm? They would hate her forever for stealing seven years off their lives. Their dental practice had been shut down, and all of their friends believed they'd moved away for life. What was left for them in England besides a daughter who started lying to them when she was eleven and continued until she was twenty-three?

Hermione knew who her parents used to be, and she knew they might never forgive her for this. Her parents had never really understood the dangers of magic; they thought it was a genetic anomaly that had to be trained like any other special talent. To them, sending Hermione to Hogwarts was equivalent to sending her to a boarding school where she could cultivate her piano skills, for she had used to be quite adept at the instrument. Sure, they'd heard of Hermione getting Petrified and the trio getting attacked by a troll, but they'd believed it to be accidents - for the former, a spell gone wrong, and for the latter, an unfortunate coincidental run in with a dangerous animal that resulted from the three disobeying rules. Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever explained to them that a person could seriously hurt another with a spell.

The way Hermione saw it, she would tell them what happened and they'd either be so upset at her betrayal that they never spoke to her again, or they'd realize Hermione had been a major part of a war, conclude that the Wizarding World was dangerous, and forbid her to enter again.

And, what was she supposed to tell them about _Malfoy? _"Oh, and Mum, the boy I hated for seven years and I are bonded through an ancient curse that we can't resist?"

_That_ would go over well.

She sighed and picked up her wand. There was no use dwelling over these things; she had much bigger problems to worry about. Namely, her failing research firm. _As Soon As Possible_, as she'd named it early on, had no funding. She was barely managing to stay on her feet financially.

_Bloody hell, I should have just taken Mrs. Malfoy's bribe,_ she thought to herself despondently. How was she supposed to achieve greatness if she couldn't even start up a firm on her own?

_Maybe you aren't meant for greatness._ It was a sneaky voice, a sly one, one that sounded rather like Severus Snape and her insecurities mixing. She knew rationally it wasn't Malfoy, but that didn't stop her from clenching her fists and apparating out in a haze of self-righteousness.

He was making her doubt herself. How was she supposed to achieve _anything_ if she kept thinking of the ferret? Ugh, this was frustrating. The Veela bond was proving to be more trouble than it was worth.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday<strong>

**3:00 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

She looked perfectly composed, a stark contrast to the sleep-deprived, hopeless face he'd seen hours before.

He had expected her to show up to the fancy little restaurant in jeans and a t-shirt, but she was instead wearing a short white dress that was surprisingly good-looking on her. It flattered her lean frame and made her small breasts look bigger than they were.

Draco couldn't conceal a smirk at the thought that he knew, quite intimately, what the Virgin Princess' breast size was. Oh, how he would have loved to screw her over in school! If he'd ever managed to get in her granny panties during Hogwarts, the whole school would have known by the end of the day. It would have devastated her.

_She would have gotten over it,_ he reminded himself when the nasty tinge he attributed to the bond made him want to flinch. He'd been feeling it quite a lot whenever he thought particularly nasty thoughts about his _dear _mate. It was an outrage, but one he didn't know how to deal with.

Granger's face was perfectly composed when she sat down opposite him, and he found he didn't like it. She looked too stony, too lifeless. Whereas a mask on him made him look coolly attractive and dangerous, it made her seem fake. He resolved to break it by the time their food arrived.

"Granger," he greeted her, letting his eyes rove over her hair, managed in a sleek bun. "You look...acceptable."

He saw the flare of anger radiating from her before he felt it, noticing how her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She was good, but he was better. "Stuff it, Malfoy," she answered, and he was struck by how flat her voice was. Where was the fight he remembered from their school days? Where was the Granger that shut the door on him when he showed up at her house begging to be let in? "I know I look more than acceptable. Why are we meeting again?"

"Acceptable is relative," he said, prodding her, trying to provoke her in some way. "And I think that finding a way to break the curse will be mutually beneficial."

Granger lifted her eyebrows. "Naturally," she said, and he was both pleased and irritated to hear a bit of a laugh behind her words. There was determination flowing from her every time he tried to sense her feelings, but determination for what? "I reached that conclusion shortly after learning of the bond."

His eyes narrowed. "Snarky comments aside, Granger, there is a slight issue." He was pleased to see her redden slightly at his chastisement. "I have a business to run. You don't; you have your little project, oh, what was it called? ASP?"

"ASAP."

"Whatever." Draco shrugged dismissively. She was getting upset, he could feel it, and he continued speaking with the air of somebody close to getting his goal. "Well, since even the most famous Spells Master this side of Europe refuses to help you, I would suggest it was time to let that dream go."

"Malfoy, I hardly think - " she began hotly, but he cut her off.

"As I was saying before you so _rudely_ interrupted me, Granger, I _would_ suggest that but I recall your obsessions with your projects from our school days - " Granger ground her teeth. " - I have another solution."

Granger opened her mouth to respond with what was undoubtedly a rude comment when a waiter appeared as if by magic. "Anything I can get you, Mr. Malfoy? Your companion?"

He ordered an iced tea with a lemon swiftly and rolled his eyes when Granger pursued the untouched menus as if it were the Rosetta Stone. "Honestly, Granger, it isn't a life or death decision. She'll have the same," he told the waiter, who bowed his way out of the conversation.

"I can order my own drink," she said sullenly, but he waved that aside. Her mask hadn't lasted very long at all.

He continued as if that interruption hadn't happened. "If you can find any kind of cure or solution to make this more bearable, _anything, _I will lend my business advice to ASAP until it is up and running. Is that acceptable?"

"What makes you think I need _your_ advice?" She shot at him. He didn't reply, only looked at her pointedly before she flushed and said, "Let me rephrase. What makes you think I want it?"

"Granger, let me remind you who I am - "

"I don't think you allow anybody around you to forget."

"I am Draco Malfoy," he said, slightly louder. "I was raised in the world of business since the day I was born."

She rolled her eyes. Insufferable brat. Had she heard any of that? "Your birth is generally when you start getting 'raised,'" was all she said.

Luckily, the iced teas appeared on their table at that moment, and he took his to calm himself down. She was infuriating. He breathed in a circular diaphragm pattern for a second - in through the nose, out through the mouth - and sipped the cool drink.

Ahh, that was better. He resumed speaking, noticing her drinking hers down thirstily with a mental triumphant smile. "Is that acceptable?"

She gave a shrug. "And if I need money to finance the research?"

Really, did she think she could even attempt to cheat him out of money? Budget discrepancies aside, he had never gotten scammed. He raised an eyebrow, said, "Submit to me a proposal explaining why you need the money, where it is going, and what you intend to do with it," and waited for a response.

She sucked drink through her straw noisily. "Let's draw up a contract," she said by way of approval. "So that, when we are no longer bonded, you won't try to run without financing ASAP."

He had expected that, and so when Draco flicked his wand, a contract appeared on the table.

"Well, well, you did come prepared," Granger said, and began reading. Her eyes moved across the page with a speed that was completely inhuman and rather freaky, before she stopped. Jabbing her finger at one sentence around one third of the way down, she read out loud, "'D.M is not required to assist the research unless it is to provide appropriate and approved resources.' You're not going to help at all?"

"You, Granger, are getting paid to do this. Don't complain." When she taking a breath to complain anyway, he held up a hand. "I have to run an internationally famous company, Granger. I hardly have the time to meet with you here, let alone to research independently." He wanted to insert a snarky comment about her loving to research more than she loved life itself, but he restrained himself. He could always use it later - it was rather good. Draco mentally congratulated himself on both his willpower and his sarcastic intellect and stored the comment away for future use. _Merlin, I'm brilliant._

Granger finished the tea with a noisy sip and stood up, taking the contract with her. It was okay; he had many copies. "I'll be going now," she announced, as if he cared. "I'll return either a signed copy to you by owl Thursday, or you'll get an envelope full of soot if this is bullshit."

"Fair enough."

Her eyebrows went up. "Was that Draco Malfoy actually being reasonable?"

"I am always reasonable," was his quick reply. "But one cannot be reasonable if the other doesn't recognize reason, and I believe that is our main problem, yes?"

He was actually gratified to hear her laugh slightly before she walked away. He finished the tea and set it down as well, and a bill popped up in its place. He placed a stack of silver coins with fifteen percent tip exactly, down to the knut, and left as well.

That had gone well; better than he'd expected, anyway. Perhaps they did have a chance.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Good? Bad? Meh? Drop a line! I rather enjoyed writing Theo, so tell me if you want more of that.**

**Oh, and it's no coincidence that the Zabinis are stirring up trouble at the same time...hehehe.**

**Narcissa's not out of the picture yet! Don't worry. She'll be back next chapter, with Vedette in tow. Do you think there should be a confrontation or another subtle Slytherin meeting?**

**Thanks for reading! Reviewers, you guys rock even Draco's socks off. **


	9. Chapter 8: Revelations

**A/N: Thanks to my beta, murtagh799, for this! You should thank her too, folks. Any mistakes left in here are completely mine that I forgot to fix. Enjoy; I have quite a bit of the next chapter written as well, so I will TRY my hardest to update quickly. However, school comes first! **

**Word count: about 7,300 words.**

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**7:45 AM**

**(Vedette Rossi' P.O.V)**

She had been slumbering in her frame when Draco burst into what she liked to call _her_ room.

She awoke to find a lit wand not two inches from her painted face. "Really, Draco," she drawled, trying to gauge his mood. "Why are you here at this ungodly hour?"

Draco's wand did not waver. "Where is she?"

Vedette feigned ignorance. She had been expecting a confrontation between the two Malfoys for quite some time; however, she'd thought Draco would perform. "If you wish to speak to her, come back when you have composed yourself."

To her surprise, his face suddenly relaxed into a predatory smile, and he winked at her conspiratorially. "I am quite composed, Vedette, I'm sure you understand."

He was clever, she had to give him that. In fact, Vedette was considering changing her allegiance. She was fond of Narcissa, really, she was, but Vedette also knew that the older woman would be just fine. It was Draco that needed her support and her advice, not Narcissa. Hadn't she just told Vedette that Sulia Zabini had spoken to her? She was doing quite excellently on her own.

"Oh, I do," Vedette answered smoothly and was gratified to see his face return to his previous expression of impulsive anger. "She's in the living room on the first floor."

He flashed her a small smile. "Thanks, Vedette."

She followed him through the various portraits, ducking behind chairs and people. Draco nearly sauntered at first, but Vedette had to hide a smirk when, approaching the room, he began to step faster and harder, sounding for all intents and purposes like a boy about to have a melt-down.

Just before he entered the room, Vedette watched Draco visibly slow his steps and take deep breaths. He really was a superb actor, she had to admit. She ducked into a portrait in the living room and hid behind a large bowl of fruit as Draco entered without knocking.

"Really, Draco," Narcissa commented idly, flipping through pages of a magazine. She was lounging on a chaise couch, looking entirely careless. "What has you in a mood?"

Vedette watched with sharp eyes as Draco replied, "Mother, look me in the eye and tell me you haven't done something wrong to _Sleeping Dragon_."

She froze. _Dear Merlin_, Vedette thought, staring at Narcissa. _Don't let this be true. _

Narcissa laughed and didn't raise her eyes from her magazine. "Draco, really. I haven't done anything to your company."

"You sure about that?" Draco's voice was dangerous, and Vedette mentally flinched. This wasn't good. Not at all.

* * *

><p><strong>(Earlier on Wednesday)<strong>

**4:45 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He had been pouring over documents for hours.

This business with Granger had set him behind, _very _behind. He'd been delegating a lot of responsibility to his team, and while it had paid off, it meant that they deserved extra money...and Draco didn't particularly like that idea. At all.

When the order form had sailed into his office this morning around three AM - he was used to getting orders at strange times from different time zones - Draco had foolishly decided he could complete it himself. In truth, it wasn't that difficult. The lady he'd run into at his mother's press conference, Barbara Allian, had commissioned a vacation house for her and her husband. It wasn't a particularly difficult assignment, but as Draco began mentally mapping out what he wanted it to look like, his mind kept wandering to the missing money.

_It absurd that we haven't found it yet_, he thought angrily as his hands sketched out a loose approximation of a wide porch similar to the one he'd given to Mrs. Allian's daughter. He'd meet with his client later that day to discuss preliminary details, but Draco liked to have some ideas to present to her, a rough model. _How difficult can it be? _

Originally, Draco had believed the missing money incident as a case of employees gone wild with their budgets, but when he checked the numbers carefully, only a few people had exceeded their limit. That brought the missing fees down to 2,500 galleons, give or take a few, which was still a worrying sum.

He looked down at his sketch and cursed, erasing a couple curvy lines with his wand before drawing them much straighter. He added tall pillars, thinking it suited Mrs. Allian, but decided they were too heavy for the porch and instead drew steps coming off the side with a large wooden arch flanking them. He could grow flowers over the edge...

_Somebody must have taken the money_, he decided. Even Magnook had warned Draco that he believed it to be a case of fraud or embezzlement. Draco was reasonably sure none of his employees had _stolen_ money; those with the talent to pull it off were the same ones loyal to him, and anyway, he paid them quite handsomely. No, Draco was sure that he hadn't hired anyone with the inclinations to steal from the company.

Then, who? Unbidden, the thought of _Daphne_ floated into his mind, but he immediately shook it off. Sure, Daphne was being immature and childish and latching herself onto Blaise Zabini in a futile effort to snub her nose at Draco, but she wouldn't steal. He was sure of that. Theo had also assured Draco that he'd set the ball rolling, so to speak, and that Daphne would contact him by Thursday. Daph was also quite comfortably well off on her own; she had no motive.

Theo...well, Draco hated to view his friend with suspicion, but he mused it over anyway. Everyone was a suspect, until proven innocent. Theo certainly _could_ pull it off; but he had no motive at all. Why would he want to steal from a company that paid him? Never mind that _Dragon_ was practically co-owned by him.

As he erased the front door he'd drawn and replaced it with double doors, Draco's mind was hard at work. Anybody that benefited from the profits was out for now, he decided. It had to be somebody who had a grudge with Draco, Theo or Daphne, and was probably doing it for attention. Either that, or they were doing it as a metaphorical _fuck you_ to whichever member of the trio had slighted them.

Draco shook his head and returned drawing, and it was only a half hour later that he finally accepted the inevitable.

_Mother_.

She fit the bill. She was most likely doing it both for attention and to inform Draco that she was capable of manipulating him through his company, no matter how hard he tried to escape her grasp. It made perfect sense, yet Draco had to keep asking himself, _why_?

* * *

><p>(Back in the present)<p>

**7:59 AM**

Draco glared at his mother, trying to simultaneously control his accidental magic and make it look like he was upset enough to lose control. It was quite difficult, actually.

Despite his show with Vedette, he was as angry as he seemed. The more he'd mulled it over, the more his eyes narrowed and his jaw had set. He couldn't believe Narcissa had the _gall_ to steal from him! It rankled him. His _mother_ was sabotaging his company, all the while smiling sadly at him and telling him that she wanted to be a part of his life, that she loved him, was so proud of his success, etc. It was sickening.

"I know you stole money," he said, straight out. Confronted with the accusation, not veiled in insult or hidden beneath meaningless chatter, Narcissa was shocked and, for a brief yet lingering second, couldn't respond.

And then she regained her senses, quite visibly, and put down her magazine. "Really, Draco," she began loftily, and he clenched his fist. How dare she look so affronted, like he'd done her a personal wrong? "I haven't stolen anything."

"Did you buy a nice pair of shoes with that money?" Draco continued, not caring for her excuses. With his mother, she thrived on subtle exchanges much as he did, but when coming against pure Gryffindor anger, she was thrown. It was a purely Slytherin move, to use enemy tactics to confuse one of his own. "Perhaps a set of robes?"

Narcissa frowned at him. "Really, Draco," she repeated, and he barely suppressed his anger. He hated those two words with a passion. "I promise you I haven't stolen a thing. What _are_ you talking about, son?"

He changed his tactics completely as he'd planned, trying to throw her off. He smiled coldly at her, all hints of uncontrollable rage disappearing in an instant. "Really, Mother," he mocked. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Stealing money is bad enough, but taking from the _Dragon_? It's beneath you."

She looked shocked, perfectly puzzled, genuinely taken aback, but Draco wasn't buying it. Any Slytherin worth his expensively imported salts could fake surprise. "I didn't take a thing from your company!"

He was about to respond when a pang of...of..._concern_ rang through him. It was obviously from Granger, and it made Draco calm down just a bit and put a lid on his emotions. Granger. She was undoubtedly feeling anger and betrayal, but why would she be _concerned?_ They hated each other!

"Prove it," he spit out, calling her bluff...

...but to his surprise, she raised her chin defiantly and held out her wand. "I swear on my magic I haven't stolen or taken _anything_ from my son or his company."

He deflated instantly, although he made sure his posture remained stiff and his face cool. He felt the sudden influx of magic, saw the swirling of magic, and knew it to be true. She hadn't stolen anything. How could he have been so wrong?

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**8:15 AM**

**(Narcissa Malfoy's P.O.V)**

She watched her son try to hide his embarrassment with a mental sigh. She wasn't that insulted by the declaration. In truth, she probably deserved it. She was quite similar to her son, and she could follow the path his mind must have taken quite easily.

"Draco," she said softly, her face for once open and free of masks. "Sit down, will you?"

He sat heavily on her sofa and stared at the floor, once again a child preparing himself for chastisement.

"Can you explain the situation to me?" She continued, her mind whirring. "Perhaps I can come up with some suspects."

He did, sullenly, and Narcissa leaned back in her seat as the realization washed over her. It was obvious, once she thought about. Hadn't someone visited her lately, saying they needed money and Draco? Wasn't that same person's son getting quite close to someone that was practically a co-founder of Draco's company?

"Sulia Zabini," she said, and her voice was nearly a hiss. Draco looked up, for once not looking at her with hatred or distrust. She fought a flare of excitement. Could this possibly be the opening she was looking for? A way to make Draco trust her again? Or, at the very least, accept her a little more?

Draco spun his wand around his fingers, mouth twisted in an ugly scowl. "Blaise, the bastard."

She reprimanded him gently for language and he apologized absently. Mother and son were on the same page, both thinking of the members of the Zabini family they hated.

Narcissa leaned forward, smirking conspiratorially. "Draco, I think I have an idea."

He waved his hand at her to continue, still obviously thinking about Blaise.

"Sulia Zabini approached me a few days ago," she said. "Proposing a marriage and partnership of sorts between you and her torrid daughter, Deteria, thus uniting our two families."

This snapped him back to life and to his earlier dislike, and he sneered at her openly. "Really, Mother, selling your only son off to regain a place in the high society?"

She bristled. "For your information," she said acerbically, "I never considered it." This wasn't strictly true, but he didn't need to know that. She wasn't going to do it and that was all that mattered. "However, this could prove to be an opening. Just as Blaise got close to Daphne to get at you - "

" - I can get close to Deteria to prove they stole from us," Draco completed, and unknown to him, his face soon mirrored his mother's in terms of satisfaction. "Granger won't be very happy about this."

A voice came from the walls. "She'll understand," it said, and Vedette stepped into view. "Hello, Narcissa, Draco. I couldn't help but overhear."

She excused her ancestor and looked up at her painted figure. "What do you propose?"

Vedette, who was in the portrait of a large, elegant study, sat in the padded leather chair behind the desk. "I think the first move would be to tell your friend Daphne," she said musingly, in her accented voice. "She'll be upset at first, but I believe that you and Theodore can sway her."

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully. "I could get close to Sulia," she offered, her nose wrinkling delicately.

Draco shot her a smirk and said, "Mother, you'll murder her within an hour," before he realized that he was being entirely too friendly and shut his face off.

"Will not," she snapped back, but her voice held no annoyance. She had been so close! "I can hold out for at least two, Draco."

He laughed without humor and stood to go. "I'll contact you about details of this plan," he said, and his voice was purely professional. "Vedette, nice to see you again."

Narcissa opened her mouth to ask Draco to stay but then she snapped it shut once more. She wasn't about to beg. "Goodbye, Draco," she said coolly, and picked up her copy of _Witch Weekly. _She flipped through the glossy pages again, pretending to be completely absorbed in them until she looked up to find that her son was gone.

She let the magazine flutter to the floor. This business with Draco was getting out of hand.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**12:01 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Her lip was drawn between her teeth, her brow was furrowed, and she breathed deeply. She was in full concentration mode, reading her edited version of Malfoy's contract. The prick thought he could get away with conning her and she was _not _inclined to let that happen. He was trying to base the amount of money he paid her off a highly complicated mathematical formula that had something to do with dividing the amount of time spent by the total facts accumulated. It was ridiculous that he thought he could rip her off.

She used a pen to scratch out a sentence and flinched violently as there was knocking on the door. "Who is it?"

"The love of your life," yelled the intruder - Ginny. Merlin. "Open this goddamned door or I'll hex you until your ear hair is longer than that bush on your head!"

Hermione drew a diagram in the air and whispered a password keyed directly to the front door. A couple minutes later, Ginny barrelled into the room. "Did you spend all night thinking of that insult, Gin?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes. "There's ice cream in the freezer. Please be quiet."

"Why do you always assume I want ice cream?" Ginny grouched, walking into her kitchen.

"Because Harry doesn't let you eat ice cream."

She tried to concentrate on the contract, but the banging coming from the kitchen as well as drawers being opened with more force than necessary, distracted her. "Merlin, Gin, being _quiet_ does not mean break all of my drawers."

The short, curvy redhead appeared in her doorway holding a bowl of chocolate fudge ice cream. "They're crappy as hell, you should probably get new ones. I hear IKEA is having a sale. What are you working on so hard?"

"A contract." Hermione resumed reading. '_In the case of emergency, H.G. will only contact D.M between the hours of 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM, and only if - '_

Ginny slid into the one other seat in the room. "Really? Is it for ASAP?"

Hermione inhaled deeply and replied, "Nah." '_And only if it involves dire injuries - '_

"What else would you have a contract for? Are you starting something new, Mione?"

'_Dire injuries and/or threats to either party.'_ "Not exactly."

"Hermione! I haven't spoken to you since that day when Malfoy approached us. Padma hasn't spoken to you since that day we had lunch. What's happening?"

"Gin, I'm busy."

Ginny sighed in frustration and ran her hand through her hair. "Merlin, Mione! When was the last time you spoke to Ron? Harry? The fuck?"

"Ginny!" Hermione put the contract down and massaged her temples. "Gin. I'm sorry. It's about twelve, isn't it? Tonight, six o'clock, invite the whole crew and we'll go to drinks."

"Fine," she said, her spoon clinking against the bowl. "But I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's been happening in your life."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**6:01 PM**

**(Harry Potter's P.O.V)**

The club was throbbing with energy, and he couldn't help but wonder why Mione had picked this place. It wasn't really her thing, he mused. His wife leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Isn't this place fabulous? Hermione needed a bit of convincing, but I thought it would be good for her."

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her waist. Even though he was fairly certain Mione would have preferred a quieter place to perk herself up, Ginny meant well. "Who's coming?"

"Well..." Ginny smiled mischievously at him and he mentally groaned. He knew that look. He only appreciated that look when it involved a bedroom. "She said, and I quote! 'Invite the whole crew.' What else was I supposed to do?"

"Ginny..."

"What? I invited Dean, but I couldn't invite him and not Seamus or he'd think I was interested in him. Which I'm not, Harry, don't give me that look. And if Seamus was invited, then Parvati had to come, but I knew Padma would be a little uncomfortable with that so I invited Su Ling from her year in Ravenclaw and her husband, and then I got Lavender to come, but then I realized she'd spend the whole night hitting on ew, Ron, so then I invited Alicia..."

Harry tuned out her chatter and simply kept urging his wife on into the club. They'd hired a babysitter and Harry wasn't keen on wasting that money. They threaded their way through the club. Ginny led him past the throngs of dancers and into a corner where a large circular table was crammed with people.

Harry instantly sought out Hermione. She was sitting near the back, cradling a caramel colored drink, a smile on her face. He rolled his eyes, pecked Ginny on the cheek, and went over to his oldest friend. "Hey, Mione."

"Hey, Harry." She raised her gaze to meet his, but otherwise her expression didn't change.

She appeared to be cheerful, relaxing, a girl out for a night with all her friends after a stressful day. Harry slid into the seat next to her and shook his head. "Mione, cut the shit."

Instantly, her smile disappeared. Harry watched as she took a lingering sip through her straw and closed her eyes. "Oh, Harry," she whispered. "I don't need this right now."

He nodded even though she couldn't see him and stole her drink. "Coca-Cola, right?" Harry asked, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid. "Of course. Not like you're gonna get smashed any time soon, huh?"

"Harry! Stop that. Get your own," she said, and he was pleased to see a hint of a smile - an actual one, dammit, not the plastic one she wore so often - playing on the side of her lips. She took the drink right back from him and very pointedly cleaned the straw with her wand.

Ginny appeared behind him and leaned down, her hair brushing her face. The smell of her flowery perfume, part of a set that he'd given her for their anniversary last year, wafted over him as she said cheerfully, "I'm going to go dance, Harry."

He looked up. "With who?"

"Parvati, Padma and Su Ling, Mr. Jealous," said his wife playfully and swatted him on his shoulder. "Don't worry. _I'm_ not about to cheat on you."

He twisted his head around sharply at that as she sashayed away. What had that comment been about?

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said softly from next to him. He turned back to her to see her shaking her head slowly. "You're so clueless."

"Am not!"

"She wanted you to dance with her," she said, giving him a nudge on the shoulder. "Go."

Harry frowned and looked down at the table. "I'm here to cheer you up, Mione," he said and raised his gaze to meet hers. "I haven't spoken to you in weeks."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and took another sip of Coke. She set the glass down on the table and played with the straw, taking it out of the glass with her thumb on the tip, effectively keeping some brown liquid inside it. Harry watched the movement carefully. "That's a total lie, Harry. I saw you a couple days ago, I'm sure."

"Bullshit! The last time I saw you was when you kept blushing and looking funny. What was that about, anyway?"

She sighed and released her thumb, letting the Coke fall and hit her glass. "Look, there's Dean," she said, completely changing the subject. "Near Parvati, see?"

He looked and was instantly distracted by the sight of his wife's ex-boyfriend and Seamus coming entirely too close to Ginny. Well, Seamus was flirting with Parvati, but Ginny had stopped dancing and was leaning in to talk to Dean.

Harry knew Ginny would never cheat on him. He knew this with finality, like he knew that Hermione would never abandon their friendship. Despite this, he still felt a quick flare of anger when he saw the pair whispering. "What's she doing?" Harry muttered, mostly to himself.

"Poor Dean," Hermione muttered, pursing her lips sadly.

What? Poor Dean? The bastard was coming on to his wife! "I knew he'd never gotten over her..." Harry muttered darkly.

Hermione looked over at him with an amused smile. "Cool it, caveman. You're jealous of _Dean_? Dean, as in sweet-artist Dean? Dean, as in the man who's been in love with Seamus for the past three years?"

He spluttered.

There was nothing in his mouth but still he felt as he'd managed to spray the table with liquid. "Dean?" He gasped, shaking his head. "And - and _Seamus? _The hell?"

Hermione's face was perfectly composed, but as Harry looked at her with confusion, he had a sneaking suspicion she was amused. "It's all perfectly tragic," she said, and he was sure he saw her lips twitching. "Dean's gay, obviously, and in love with his best friend, but Seamus is straighter than a ruler and head over heels for Parvati. Really, Head Auror, how did you not pick up on this? It was blatantly obvious. Ginny just teases you to make you jealous."

Harry groaned.

He had nothing against gay people, per say, but the knowledge that he'd been jealous of a guy in love with another guy made him just a little weirded out. "Mione," he whined. "Why'd you have to tell me?"

She grinned, and he mentally cheered. Okay, so he was embarrassed as hell, but at least his best friend was smiling. "Merlin, Harry, just doing you a favor."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**7:45 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Harry and she were nearly the only ones left at the table when Ron, grinning and flushed from a bout of dancing with Alicia, made his way over to join them. "Harry!" The red-head exclaimed, setting down his drink, and the two of them did that strange back-slap display of man-love that only best friends in a 'bromance' were allowed to do. "And Herms, out from her cave! Hey, Hermione."

"Hello, Ron," Hermione said, slightly icily. "I was not in a _cave_."

He grinned at her, unaffected, and took a sip of the Firewhiskey in his glass. Coughing slightly, he wiped his mouth and slung himself in the seat next to her. "Whatever floats your boat, Herms. What's up, anyway? Why've you been ignoring Harry and me? He's been going mental, you know." He gave her a lazy smirk and imitating Harry's voice in a tone that any observer would have believed was a mockery of a girl. "Ooh! Ron! Where's Mi, Ron? Do you think she's mad at us, Ron? Owl her, will you, Ron? I went to her flat yesterday but she changed the wards!"

She giggled, and it turned into a full-fledged laugh when she saw Harry reddening. "Shut up, Ron," he mumbled, reaching around Hermione to shove him. "I did _not_ do that."

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said, swallowing her smile. "I'm glad _somebody_ was a little concerned."

He smiled at her and her gaze flicked to his wrist. The small mark there was hidden by a glamour, she noticed, but that was okay because hers was too. Harry had protested at first, but she'd convinced him that if the press caught wind of the two of them being Blood Bonded they'd never be able to live it down. She knew Ginny would never forgive him, no matter how many times they explained it was a declaration of _family_.

Neither Ron nor Ginny could really understand Harry and Hermione's desperate need for family. He was an orphan with a dreadful aunt, uncle and cousin, and she had never been close with her family. She only saw her parents for a few months a year, and she had no brothers or sisters or any cousins she was close with. She'd found a brother in Harry and he a sister in her. She understood, he understood, but they hardly expected anyone else to understand.

Ron took another swig of his drink and nudged her. "So? Really, what's been going on?"

Damn. Shit. She had to say something. As Hermione let her gaze wander from Ron's friendly, open face and Harry's concerned one, she realized how much she wanted advice. Sure, she'd told Ginny and Padma, but the former was always going on about the sexual aspect, and the latter hadn't said another word about the issue.

"If I tell you two something that only Ginny and Padma know," she began carefully, her heart racing, "will you keep it a secret?"

Harry nodded instantly. She turned to her right and was surprised to see Ron nodding as enthusiastically. Still, she cast a few privacy spells before the words escaped her mouth.

"I'm a Veela's mate."

To her surprise, nothing happened.

Ron snickered and said, "Who's the unlucky bastard, then?" Harry, on the other hand, was looking at her oddly.

"Um, Mione..." Harry bit his lip. "That's impossible."

"Excuse me?" Not the response she had been looking for. Where was the outraged shouting?

"There isn't any such thing as a male Veela," he said, taking her hand. "Unless you, erm...prefer woman?"

Ron's expression turned a bit dreamy. _Perhaps imagining a lesbian affair with me and his beloved Alicia, _Hermione thought angrily.

A pulse went through her suddenly, and she froze. That was Malfoy. Shit. She could feel his curiosity, no doubt sensing her scared-but-angry emotions. Much as she'd sent concern earlier that day when his emotions had been close to boiling over with betrayal and angst, he was now sending his curiosity.

_No concern, but I didn't expect it,_ was her first thought.

_Bloody hell, this is weird as hell_, was her second.

"I assure you it's true," Hermione said, trying to remain calm, if only not to give Malfoy anything to work with. "I've researched it and confirmed it."

Harry didn't look like he believed her, but he shrugged and said, "Who is it, then?"

"Draco Malfoy?"

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**8:00 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

What the fuck was happening with Granger?

She felt...overwhelmed. Angry. Nervous. Worried. What was going on? It was beyond stress or PMS. He closed his eyes, inhaled, accessed his Occlumency shields and dove through their bond. Draco had done this once before when he'd learned she was _Blood Bonded_ with the Potty Prat, and he wasn't too surprised to see Weaselbee and Pothead standing and yelling.

Of course it was them. Of course.

It looked like she'd just told them about him, and he looked curiously, noting with surprise that he couldn't hear anything. That was strange. Perhaps the connection worked differently than he'd thought?

Anyway, he watched in amusement as Weasley yelled something at her, and Potter echoed it. Granger looked lost for a second before her eyes narrowed, she grabbed hold of their wrists, and Apparated away.

Go Granger! He felt a bit of disorientation as his vision swam, but when it cleared he saw her shouting at the two boys in her ratty little apartment. He wasted a second eyeing it with distaste, before a hex whizzing by shocked him back into reality. Merlin, Granger was getting _fierce_. Potter and Weasley cowered away and he smirked as he imagined what she was saying. He'd always known she was the balls in that relationship, and it was awfully pleasing to see Potter flinch as she hit his arm.

An idea formed in his head and, smirking wickedly, he Apparated out as well. Time to add some fire to the mix. Oh, this would be fun.

He appeared in the war zone in time to catch Granger in the middle of her rant: "...can't believe you would be so insensitive? Can't you forget your hatred and help me? I'm bonded to a mother-fucking prat I've hated since I was eleven! Merlin, Harry, Ron, it's not all about you!"

Granger was swearing? Oh, this was priceless. (Draco ignored the insult; he was used to them). She'd provided him with the perfect opening line as well. He discretely drew his wand and said, "True that, Granger. I'd say a fair bit of it was about me, yeah?"

She spun around, as did her sidekicks. A second later, he was treated to three wands pointing his way. Pathetic. He'd been confronted with worse. Once, after the Dark Lord was particularly displeased with him, he'd dispatched Draco into the middle of a trap - him versus nine Death Eaters convinced that he was a traitor. He'd _won_ with only a broken leg and a bleeding side as injuries. The Golden Trio was nothing.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Granger hollered at him, her wand lit. "Get the fuck out of my apartment!"

"I've noticed you get a dirty mouth when you're particularly...excited," Draco said, throwing her a leering look. "I rather like that side of you."

"Merlin, Mione, he lives in your flat?" Potter yelled, his face contorted in disgust. "No wonder you haven't been to see us lately!"

"Probably fucking him every chance you get," Weasley threw in. Draco cringed. This wouldn't end well.

He was proved right as Granger turned her ire on Weasley. "Ron! You know I wouldn't go near him with a ten foot - ten foot...a ten foot pole!"

He could feel her outrage through the bond but he leaned against the wall, entirely unconcerned. This was proving to be quite fun. "Aw, Granger, don't tell me you've forgotten the night when we consummated the bond, now." He winked at her as Potty and Weasel's jaws dropped in anger. "I still have scratches on my back, tiger. Was she like that with you, Weasley?"

"You _slept _with him!" Surprisingly, it wasn't Weasley who exploded into a high pitched whine. No, it was Potter, who was looking at Granger with supreme betrayal. Interesting...perhaps Potter held a torch for his mate? That would certainly explain their little Blood Bond...

He felt _pleading_ through _his_ bond, and, startled, he met her eyes. She was looking at him in desperation, and he considered telling them it was the bond that made her. _Hell_, he decided after musing it over. _She's never done anything for me_. "It was hot, too," he commented instead.

She gasped and slashed her wand through the air to hex him, but he stepped out of the way. The hex burned an ugly streak through her already ugly wall, and he eyed it with snobbish consideration. "Actually," he said, turning up his nose. "It adds something, some decor to this god-awful room, Granger. I think you should do that to all your walls. Start a trend, you know."

"You _prat!_" Weasley barreled at him, but he flicked his wand and he crashed to the floor, Petrified.

"Hey!" Potter charged him, but met the same fate as Weasley.

Granger gave him a dirty look and knelt next to the boys. "Ron, Harry," she said softly, their eyes following her. "Let's talk tomorrow. Go back to the club. Dance. Forget about this. Remember, don't tell anyone - if you do, a place very close to you will suffer the same fate as Marietta Edgecombe!"

He winced.

She looked around absently and waved her wand. A small piece of string flew through the air and landed next to her. "_Portus," _she said, her wand creating a complex pattern. She weaved it through their fingers and stood back. Ten seconds late, they were gone.

"Crafty," he commented.

She whirled around as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Merlin, Malfoy, do you have to be such an asshole?"

"It's in the job description," he said in all seriousness.

"Argh!"

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**8:10 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She glared at him angrily. The nerve! He was such a bloody bastard! "I can't believe you did that!"

He shrugged and left the room. She stared after him in bewilderment for a split second - what the hell was he doing? - before she followed him. When she finally managed to land a hex on him, he'd wish he was never born!

She found him in the study, reading over the revised edition of the contract. "Nice," he said, nodding his head. "I agree. How about we sign it here and start tomorrow? It's getting late, I have work to do."

She gaped. The insolence of that man! "I still have a day," Hermione said, finding her tongue. "You'll get it on Thursday as I promised."

Malfoy sighed and looked up at her. A small smile played on his lips, and she was suddenly distracted by those lips...oh, those lips...

_Hermione Granger, control yourself. _

"And here I thought you were an overachiever," he sighed mournfully and shot her a side smirk. "Pity."

She made a noise of annoyance and flicked her wand. A smile of satisfaction crossed her face as, a second later, he crashed to the ground and she primly took the seat. Ignoring his muttered curse, she picked up her pen and very pointedly wrote, _'D.M will not harass H.G in any way.' _

"It's not harassment if you like it, love," he said, hoisting himself back on the desk.

"What," she said heatedly, "is that like saying 'it's not rape if it's consensual,' Malfoy?"

His brow furrowed, obviously not recognizing the expression. "Granger, hate to break it to you, but...if it's consensual it's not rape."

She groaned. "Malfoy, this counts as harassment."

"What, you don't love my charming company?" He smirked at her and rolled up the sleeves of his button down shirt. How was it possible that a man so awful could be so goddamned attractive? "Granger, don't lie."

"I _hate_ your company."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**8:15 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He wasn't sure when he'd decided to maybe-sort-of flirt with her, but he found it was much more enjoyable than fighting with her. He remembered what Vedette had told him before he'd left Malfoy Manor that morning - a reminder that he'd never live happily if him and Granger couldn't at least get along - and decided that flirting led to sex, and he was perfectly fine with that.

After all, he'd much rather fuck Granger than fight her. And, who knows, she might even fall in love with him! He doubted he'd ever love her, but it would make things easier if she loved him. He gave her his most attractive smile and said, "Now, now, don't forget that I can feel your emotions, love." Draco didn't know where the nickname came from, but it made her blush, and he sensed her defenses weakening just slightly. "You don't hate me."

"Fine," she said loftily, continuing to scratch away at the contract. "I don't hate you. I despise you. I abhor you. I detest you. I loathe you. I'm disgusted by you. I _abominate_ you. I - "

"Spend entirely too much time with a thesaurus?" Draco offered, and gently slid the contract away. "I expect that on my desk by the three o'clock PM tomorrow, Granger. For today, though, do something different. Relax."

"I'm not about to relax when you're here."

He leaned down and smirked at her. "Oh, really? Granger, please. You're itching to jump me and be ravished. Now, the jumping may result in injury, but I'm entirely open to the ravishing. Which, incidentally, goes along with _relax_."

Her cheeks flushed red. "I am not itching to...to...be _ravished_!"

He smiled at her, hoping the appearance of an actual _smile_ would shock her into submission. She did seem a little taken back, but the determination she was currently harboring didn't lessen.

He'd have to work a little harder, then. The idea of making Hermione Granger fall in love with him was growing rapidly on him. How ironic would _that_ be, the Princess of Gryffindor falling hard for the Prince of Slytherin?

Perfect.

"Well, Granger, that sure is a pity," he drawled, shaking his head so that a few locks fell in his eyes. "I was prepared to offer my services for said ravishing."

She tilted her chin up as to further enhance her glare, but all that did was put her lips in close proximity to Draco's. "You already did," she said snottily, but he hardly noticed; he was busy eyeing those lips. If he leaned down a few more inches...

Well, his father always told him to act upon an opportunity if his opponent was foolish enough to offer one. "Let me try to convince you," he said, before mentally cringing - what an awful line! Merlin! He saw an amused smile start to cross those damn lips. He could do nothing else but simply lean down to kiss her.

_Holy fucking Merlin with a baggy left testicle!_

The lust hit him in a single, unforgiving moment of pure brilliancy before he found himself crashing against the opposite wall, Granger's wand trained firmly on his chest. Damn! How did she _not_ feel that? It wasn't like she was all that great of a kisser; honestly, she could use some practice, but there was something shooting through the bond that made her dry, unmoving lips quite frankly intoxicating.

Draco wasn't stupid. He didn't think that Granger was a fantastic kisser because of some true love bullshit. He knew perfectly well that the bond was manipulating him; after all, Veelas were known for having many, many children, if only to further the line. He was sure the curse was trying to get him to view Granger as desirable so that they could continue the tradition.

Still, he'd reluctantly accept the manipulation if it meant he could get in Granger's chastity belt. Yet she seemed to be impervious to it; how was that even possible? He _felt_ her longing. He sensed it. He knew it was there. Still, she managed to curse him in the middle of that! How was it possible?

Draco resolved to practice resisting the lust. It was an embarrassing weakness. He should be the one in control, not her.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday<strong>

**8:34 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Hot damn that kiss had been good.

It had only lasted for a split second, but Hermione had felt her inhibitions dissolving. If it had lasted a minute longer, she would have been discarding her clothes and, as he'd said earlier, begging to be ravished. Lucky for her that while she may not be able to control her emotions like Mr. Masked over there, when it came to passion, Hermione was perfectly capable to taking a mental step back and evaluating the situation.

She had fast come to the conclusion that the kiss equaled bad things. Without even thinking about it, she'd raised her wand and blasted him away with the first spell that came to mind. After all, Tonks had taught her and Ginny quite a few things about warding off horny Death Eaters during the war, and Hermione never forgot a lesson.

She watched him with equal parts anger and curiosity as he simply sat there on the floor, back against the wall, thinking with a little smirk on his face. She could feel a bit of irritation coming off of him, as well as the _desire_ - that she tried to ignore - but she couldn't tell exactly where his irritation was stemming from.

He raised himself slightly and grinned lopsidedly at her. Why was he doing this? Why was he flirting with her and smiling at her and not acting like the affronted prat he was? It was infuriating! She preferred Bastard Malfoy, not Flirty Malfoy, and Hermione wasn't sure how to get the former back. "Aw, Granger," he said lazily. "You felt it too. Don't deny it."

Okay, so what if she'd wanted to shag him? It was the bond. "Yes," she answered sharply, "Pity that the curse is so manipulative."

A very small, secretive smile crossed his lips, as if he was laughing at some private joke. "Pity." She opened her mouth to rant at how inappropriate his advances were when he stood in a fluid motion and saluted her. "If you're done blasting me against walls, I'll be taking my leave - important work to do an all that. _Ciao, _Granger, it's been awful fun."

"Get back here!" she yelled as he prepared to spin away. How dare he leave her like that?

He paused. "Granger, you want me to stay? I'm flattered."

Wait, what? She furrowed her brow as she realized that he was using reverse psychology on her. "I just wanted to do something," she said, and quickly fired off a stinging hex directed at his, well, lower parts.

He raised an eyebrow at her and Apparated out a second before the hex hit him. She shrieked in frustration as yet another burn mark was imprinted into the wall. "Fuck you, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled at the mark, "Fuck you!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: aww, isn't it cute how much they rile each other up? I was a little uncertain about the appearance of Flirty!Draco. If you like him, drop me a line. If you hate him, drop me a line. If you don't really care, drop me a line. Feedback is the main reason I post on this site!**

**Oh - I was having a tough weekend, and I wrote a short, sort of depressing one shot called "A Thin Railing." It's written in second person, from Hermione's view, in a world where, after the war, she has become depressed. She's visiting the Astrology tower one late and lonely night when, of course, she runs into Draco! Check it out? (yep, this is shameless self promotion)**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: I am so sorry this took forever. Truth be told, it was a stupid mistake on my part. I completely forgot this was sitting on my computer; I thought I'd already submitted it! I have roughly 4000 words of the next chapter written, so hopefully sometime this week or next I'll post it.**

**Thanks for reading, and too all those that reviewed: you make my day. possibly my life. I treasure each comment.**

**Thank you to my beta, **murtagh799. All mistakes are mine.****

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday<strong>

**8:00 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Adding a wall _there_ would mean he'd have to raise the roof two meters, which could result in the columns having to shift placement. He needed the wall, though, or the roof might cave in during a heavy storm or a hurricane. Draco bit his lip in frustration as he rearranged things, checking the sheet of paper with his client's specifications every once in a while. Damn Barbara Allian, anyway. She was incessantly picky. His original indoor columns had been too thick for her, but when he'd compensated for the skinner ones by adding a few more, she'd complained about the number interfering with her "chi." Honestly, he didn't give a shit about her chi.

"Draco."

He ignored the voice. The person could wait, especially if it were Daphne, as he rather suspected it was. He erased two columns from his floating 3D model and flicked his wand so they rearranged themselves closer to the middle. He added a half-wall behind the left side and cast a spell. Rough winds tore through his half-completed model, and Draco frowned in concentration, writing down which points were hit the hardest, indicated by a glowing red.

"Draco."

He swore as the wall he'd just added caved in and canceled the simulation with a jab of his wand. Okay. That didn't work. Perhaps he should simply add a few columns on the second floor? No, Allian had told him that columns only worked on the ground floor. If he had all the arches she wanted, then there would be no wall support! This was ridiculous! Her plans were highly improbable.

"Draco Malfoy, you look at me right now!"

Definitely Daphne. "Listen, Daphne," he said without looking up, "I'm actually rather busy doing _work_, something I'm afraid you have become unfamiliar with lately. I suggest you reacquaint yourself with it in your new office and speak to me after my afternoon meeting. I believe I can squeeze you in."

Daphne huffed loudly. "Draco, you're being childish."

"Actually, being childish would be to ignore the large quantities of work I have in order to have a sparring match with you, Daphne. By removing you from my presence, both of us will accomplish something." He changed all the arches to circular ones, removing the pointy corners and thus adding a few feet of extra wall support, and considered how that looked with the overall theme. Actually, a circular theme would work much better...

"Draco! Look at me!"

"Daphne, if you must insist on speaking loudly and disrupting my employees, I'm afraid I shall have to remove you from this side of the building immediately. Or, of course, I can place you under a Silencing charm. They have the same effect." He had already placed a silencing charm on his office the moment he had heard her walk in anyway - no need letting his employees know there was trouble within the Silver Trio - but she didn't need to know that.

"You are being extremely immature," she spat at him and left his office. He rolled his eyes and continued working. She'd be back in five minutes, he was sure.

Sure enough, she barged in approximately six minutes later, full of outrage. "Where's my office! Draco!"

He finally raised his eyes to meet hers and let a mocking smile curl his lips. "I'm sure you remember our policy at _Dragon_," he said, his eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. She looked polished and pristine, but he saw how she curled her hand around her wand in agitation. She was taking slightly deeper breaths than normal as well, obviously trying to calm herself down. "Office space directly corresponds to the amount of work one does. I'm afraid that Theo has taken over your old office, as you doubtlessly noticed. Your new number is 15A."

She inhaled sharply in anger and perhaps sadness. This was an open declaration of mistrust. Draco's office was simply A, Theo's was 2A, and Daphne's old office had been 1A. The three had been in a row, with Draco in the middle. Now, she had been banished to the end of the hall, where she wouldn't be able to easily access Draco and talk to him secretly through the connection.

"Who is in Theo's old office?"

He looked down at the model. "Nobody. It's open."

Daphne sighed then, softly, and he raised his gaze to her once more. "I'm so sorry, Draco," she whispered, and her face was open and full of simple regret. "Please, forgive me."

He knew how difficult it was for a Slytherin to apologize, especially Daphne, but his face was hard when he looked at her. "Forgiveness must be earned," he said coldly. "And your list of grievances is quite long. 15A."

"I'll keep trying," she promised, and left his office. He heard her footsteps trail off and he returned his gaze to the model. This was going to be quite difficult, but he'd manage. They had been angry at each other before, and every time it involved a rather grueling process of making up to the other. This time, Daphne had to earn Theo's forgiveness as well as Draco's, but he was confident she would do it. She was his sister, practically. He was sure she wouldn't give that up for a relationship with Zabini.

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday<strong>

**8:18 AM**

**(Daphne Greengrass' P.O.V)**

Although she had left Draco's office full of regret, by the time she had stalked all the way down the hall to her new office, Daphne was seething. Draco's employees looking at her curiously as she passed them, eyes narrowed, struggling to maintain her famous self control. One of them, Gabrielle, poked her head out of her office and said in a perky voice, "Daphne! What happened to your old office?"

"It's being renovated," she bit out.

"Why were you gone for so long?"

Daphne pinned the woman under her most imposing glare. "Not that it concerns you, _Jenkins_, but I was using some of my vacation time."

Gabrielle grinned, entirely unconcerned by Daphne's obvious anger. "An awfully inconvenient time to use the vacation time, isn't it?"

"Gabrielle," a voice said from behind Daphne. She rolled her eyes. Theo. She'd missed him when visiting her old office, thankfully, and was not looking forward to another confrontation with him. Daphne turned slowly to see Theo frowning at the other woman. "I believe that you are supposed to be working, yes? Draco will be _quite_ displeased if he hears of this."

She paled and fled back inside her office. Daphne continued walking, mentally mocking both the men in her life. First there was Theo, who was Draco's little henchman. It was all _Draco_ this and _Draco_ that. What about her? And Draco was the biggest prat in the world anyway. He was acting ridiculous. Okay, so maybe she'd taken a little time off, who cared? Just because _he_ was a workaholic didn't mean everyone was. Everyone respected Draco, was afraid of Draco. Draco could do no wrong. Well, Daphne knew just how flawed Draco was, even if nobody else could see it -

"Daphne." Theo walked a little closer to her and dropped his voice. "Stop. Don't get upset. You know you're the one in the wrong here."

She opened her mouth to spit out that no, thank you; it was _not_ her fault, when Theo simply gave her a challenging look.

She deflated. He wouldn't even let her have a nice internal rant in peace. "Just leave," she said. He gave her an actual smile and left her standing there. Daphne hurried to her new office and shut the door, throwing up a few locking and privacy wards, surveying her appearance with a wrinkled nose.

It wasn't her old office, but it would have to do.

She sat down at the desk and took a pad of parchment out from her pocket, flipping to a new page. When she put aside her pride and thought about it, really thought about it, she remembered the shame she'd felt when Theo had visited her. It was her fault, really. Sure, Draco was being a prat and Theo was...well, Theo, but she had broken into Draco's house - it had been a joke! - and hooked up with Draco's enemy. She supposed she had some explaining to do.

Daphne withdrew a quill and began planning how to get back in Draco's good books. She may act like they didn't matter to her, but him and Theo were her family. Any Slytherin knew that family ranked before everything, even ambition and pride.

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday<strong>

**7:32 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Stretching his back, Draco felt a few vertebrae pop into place. "Fuck," he groaned, as he reached back to massage his sore neck. He'd been working all day, and while he'd accomplished quite a lot, he was tired as _hell_.

"Hey, Drake," said Theo from outside his door. "I think I'm leaving."

"Fuck you," Draco said, his lips curving into a smile. "I have to stay."

Theo raised an eyebrow and leaned against his door. Instead of looking cool and suave and attractive like Draco did, Theo only managed to pull off a sort of not-so-geeky scientist look. "You don't _have_ to stay, Draco. Jeez. When was the last time you took a vacation?"

Draco rolled his eyes and stretched his arm, groaning. "I'll take a vacation when my bank account satisfies me."

"See you in hell, then."

"Is that implying that I'm going to hell for this attitude, or that the next time I take vacation will be when I'm dead and in hell because of said attitude?"

"Definitely the latter."

He grinned. "Thought so."

Theo laughed as well, walking a few feet into the office. "Really, Drake. Nobody's going to say anything if you leave now."

Okay, so he wasn't leaving for two reasons: 1) his beach-house in the works was still collapsing under hurricane winds, and 2) Granger hadn't sent him the revised contact. "I'm almost done," he lied, indicating the model floating in front of him. "I just need to close the upstairs and plan the deck in the front, and I'll be done for the day."

"Is that the only reason?" Theo's voice was perfectly innocuous, but Draco shot him an inquisitive look and he elaborated, "Daphne's still here."

That _might_ have been the third reason. Draco raised his chin defiantly and said, "So what? She has plenty of work to do."

"Don't give me that shit," Theo sighed, and Draco was struck by how tired he looked. Daphne's betrayal had been hard on them both, but while it was like being fucked over by a sister for him, Draco was reasonably sure that Theo was in love with her. Her crimes would have hit him much harder. "You know you're trying to show her up."

Draco sighed and motioned Theo to sit down. "You know, you can forgive her anytime you want," he said, his voice low and his gaze intense. "You don't have to wait for me. I know you love her."

"So do you," Theo said, his eyes shifting to the wall.

"Don't give me that shit," he mocked, "I know you _love_ her."

Theo stood abruptly. "I do _not_, Draco. Merlin! Stop trying to deflect attention! And you know I'll forgive her whenever I want, not when you do."

"Theo - "

He stormed out of Draco's office, and the other man groaned. Excellent. Now both of his friends were angry at him. He knew Theo would come around; he was just shocked. Daphne was another matter. She was unpredictable in this mood, and he hated unpredictability. _Should I tell her about the Zabinis' plan_?

Draco mused it over. On one hand, she could provide him with insight into the Zabinis, not to mention she could be a 'collector of information', a term he used instead of 'spy'. On the other hand, she'd get affronted, storm off, tell her beloved lover, and the entire operation would be lost.

The risk greatly outweighed the benefits, he decided. He'd hold off telling her until he was certain she was back on his side, so to speak.

Draco massaged his temples and returned to work. Sometimes, all of this was terribly daunting. He had to juggle work, plotting, and more plotting - not to mention Granger - and he was barely in his twenties. How could he do this?

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**8:01 AM**

**(Ron Weasley's P.O.V)**

He stood on Hermione's doorstep, and tried to work up the courage to knock on her door.

He'd been thinking about things over the past two days and he'd fast come to the conclusion that it technically wasn't Mione's fault that the prat was manipulating her. After all, he'd fallen for Fleur back in the day and he'd hardly been able to resist it when she came within five feet of him. Malfoy was a bloody prat and an awful person, but if he had some Veela juju to work with, he was sure even Mione would be a bit overwhelmed.

He'd actually sat down and thought through it. Ron had even gathered his courage and come to speak to Hermione, but he'd forgotten a vital point: he actually had to walk in her door.

Shit.

He raised his hand, but it hung motionless in the air an inch or two away from the door. _Knock, Ron_, he told himself firmly. _Let's go. _

He was about to knock - he was! - when the door swung open and Hermione walked right into him.

"Merlin, Ronald!" Hermione said huffily. "What are you doing here?"

He gave her his best smile. "Aw, Mi, I can't even visit my best friend?"

"You're not angry?" Hermione gave him a suspicious look. "Okay, Ronald, what do you want from me?"

He bit his lip. It was now or never. "I was thinking," he said in a rush. Might as well get it over with. "It's not really your fault that this whole...Veela shit is going down. Yeah?" He ended with a hopeful smile and his best puppy-dog eyes.

There was a pause. Ron smiled triumphantly as he saw Hermione think this over. Yes, she was about to forgive him. She would be so impressed with his foresight and courage and brilliant speech that...

"You had two days and _that_ is what you came up with?"

His smile fell. She shrugged and began to walk away, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"What do you mean, Mione?" Ron asked, hurrying after her. "I thought it was good!"

She groaned loudly as they headed down the tiny staircase to the exit of her building. "Ron, that was good for when you were a fourth year."

"Mione!" He whined as he leaped down the last couple of stairs and turned to face her. "You know I haven't matured since then."

This brought a smile to her face and she paused briefly before stepping around him. "Ron, thank you for being mature about this. I appreciate it."

His shoulders slumped as he kept walking slightly behind her as she exited the building and hurried around the block to a safe spot to Apparate. "I hear a 'but...'"

"But, I'm terribly busy," she said, "And I don't have time right now."

"You never have time!" Ron said heatedly, and he meant it. At first, he'd thought Hermione was ignoring him because of their rather nasty breakup. After all, he'd reasoned, if you throw a lamp at someone, you don't exactly want to spend time with them immediately after. But, it had been nearly a year since that'd happened, and he was happy with Alicia. Mione had even gone out on a few dates. They'd repaired their friendship. Why, he wondered, was she never available to spend time with the Weasleys?

Hermione sighed and tucked hair behind her ear, turning to face him. "Listen, Ron, this is a very stressful time of my life right now..."

"Don't let Malfoy get between us, Mione!"

"That's not it!"

The two stared at each other with the beginning of irritation, but then Ron sighed heavily and said, "Mi, I just don't get why you're busy all the time. I mean, it's not like ASAP is going anywhere, yeah? You have the degree from those universities, so you might as well get yourself hired somewhere. The Unspeakables have been after you for the past two years, you know."

Hermione flushed angrily and withdrew her wand.

"Whoa," Ron said, jumping back. He took a swift look at Hermione's incensed face and quickly held his hands up defensively. "Jeez, don't hex me."

"I'm not going to hex you," she said, but didn't put away her wand. "I'm leaving, Ron. For your information, I'm not giving up now because some poncey Spells Master told me to do so, okay? Stop suggesting it!"

"Mione - " he started, but before he could finish his attempt at placating his friend, she disappeared with a slight pop. Ron groaned and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it farther. "Dammit!" He shoved his hands in his pockets, grabbed his wand, and looked around him shadily. "That woman is insane, I swear," Ron told himself as he twisted the wand and disappeared as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**8:01 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Fucking hell, Deteria Zabini was even hotter than the last time he'd seen a picture of her.

Draco, who had taken a well-deserved break after spotting that Daphne hadn't yet appeared at work, grinned slightly. Deteria may be an awful, snobbish lady with no intelligence, but _damn_, she was attractive. Where Blaise used his exotic looks to appear rugged and well-traveled, Deteria employed her dark skin and wide, dark eyes to showcase a mysterious sensuality that Draco could appreciate as one does a painting. Before the whole Veela incident, Draco would have jumped at the chance to sleep with this tigress if it had been required, but now, he wondered with a wrinkled nose whether that horrible lurching feeling in his stomach would rise. When he'd shagged that irritating reporter, he'd thrown up afterwards.

_Perhaps I won't sleep with her,_ he mused to himself, tilting the picture of her back. Her figure smiled, blew a kiss, and trailed a finger down the side of her body. He gulped as she traced her curves. _Perhaps I will_.

"Draco," said Daphne's voice from the door. Draco froze and stopped moving the picture, scowling. She'd dismantled the wards on the hallway outside, the ones that told him when someone was approaching his office. No wonder she hadn't appeared in his screening check of all the offices. She had probably been hiding in her old office, which still recognized her magical signature, and working on the wards.

"Really, Daphne," he drawled, lifting his head. "That was quite a pathetic effort. I've been expecting you to succeed for, oh, seventeen minutes now."

Daphne scowled.

In truth, he hadn't even noticed her outside, but who the hell needed to know that?

Regardless, Daphne cleared her throat. "Your birthday is this Sunday, Draco."

He resisted making a childish comment such as '_Congratulations, you've learned to use a calendar,'_ and instead stated, "Indeed." He'd found that if he didn't volunteer any information, others rushed to compensate. He'd learned that from Snape.

Daphne was no exception. "I took the liberty of planning the event for you. Well, I've begun to. I am aware that you may not want my help, but I thought I would, just in case." She was rambling. This was a good sign. Although Slytherins liked to give the impression that they were in control of every aspect - appearance, speech, manipulation, emotions - they really weren't. Except for him, naturally. Draco knew he was an exception.

Anyway, he'd forgotten it was soon to be his birthday. He supposed he should be celebrating, considering he'd managed to find his mate and thus wouldn't die. Still, with all the stress he was under, he hardly felt the need to party. Draco weighed out the pros and cons before giving Daphne a small smile. "Yes, I would," he told her, and she smiled back. It wasn't forgiveness, oh, definitely not after one day, but it was a sign to Daphne that she was on the right track.

"I have a few themes in mind. Jungle?"

He rolled his eyes. "What, so we can all dress in distastefully revealing clothing of tacky tribal prints and act like our gorilla ancestors? While I may agree to the first point about revealing clothing, I definitely do not want to hear all of the 'banana' jokes that will surely commence."

Daphne huffed, but Draco suspected she had thrown that suggestion out there just to make him talk about it. "Safari."

"Overdone."

"Caribbean?"

Draco mulled it over. It was slightly cliché as well, but at least she was thinking a little more outside the box. "Not the Caribbean, but I like the beach."

Daphne bit her lip as she thought about it. Draco watched her concentrating for a beat or two before returning to his work; Daphne loved planning events, and she was bent on gaining his forgiveness. This party would be one to remember.

"I'll think about it later," Daphne said after a few seconds. She stood in front of his desk, her hands folded together. Draco didn't have to look up past them to know that her sharp eyes would be taking in his every appearance. That was why he'd forgone any glamour charms that morning, instead spending an extra half-hour making himself look breathtakingly attractive without any outside help. He smirked silently as a few minutes passed without a sarcastic remark. Either Daphne was curbing her tongue, or there was nothing wrong with his appearance. He suspected it was both. "Who's that?"

"Hmm?" Draco looked up and let his own gaze rove lazily down his friend's body. He picked up the small details - her collar was slightly crinkled, there was a slight shimmering around her forehead, suggesting a glamour had been placed, and her fingernails were slightly worn, as if she hadn't been keeping up her beauty regime. _Looks like Zabini is running you ragged, Daph,_ he thought to himself. _The price of paradise. Or perhaps it is the trouble in said paradise making you tired?_

Daphne bristled at his blatant evaluation of her person. "That woman whose photograph you are carrying. Who is it? Does Granger know about it?"

His expression, which had been slightly softer as he'd noticed Daphne's exhaustion, hardened. "First, Daphne, I don't appreciate your nosy tendencies. Secondly, if you do not recognize her, that is both quite pathetic and very telling. Thirdly, I thank you to keep your musings about Granger and my relationship out of my office. What, so _Blaisey_ doesn't take you to meet his sister, even? I thought it was serious."

She blinked. Draco smiled in satisfaction. Slipping that little part in at the end, just after he'd reprimanded her for asking about his relationship with Granger, had thrown her. She quickly recovered and said crisply, "Demetria, yes, I've spoken to her recently."

"You really must learn to lie better," Draco said condescendingly. "Firstly, her name is not Demetria, and secondly, you haven't spoken to her since sixth year when she told everybody you were bewitching your bras to make your breasts look better." He wrinkled his forehead as she blushed. "That was to impress that seventh year, wasn't it?"

Daphne pursed her lips. "Draco," she said, crossing her arms as soon as she said the name. "What are you doing with my boyfriend's sister? If you're trying to come between me and Blaise - "

He gave her his best '_I can't believe this_' look. "Honestly," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He watched her shift uncomfortably at his tone. "Not everything is about you, Daphne." Draco eyed her form and decided to throw her a (fake) bone. "I've become bored with Granger's frigid tendencies," he explained loftily, watching her war with herself internally. She obviously wanted to protest at his characterization that woman were only good for shagging, but Draco knew Daphne was pleased that he was allegedly drawing away from Granger. Little did she know that he was having vivid, _very _descriptive dreams of a certain nature now that neither he nor Granger frequented that little Muggle park. "Although I must admit that when I heard dear Deteria was looking for a good time, it did cross my mind briefly that this is an excellent way of getting you know your _lovely_ boyfriend's family."

"Draco - "

He waved his hand at her. She'd have to work a little bit harder to get more information out of him. "I have to get back to work, Daphne. I'll speak to you later."

After a moment, she sighed softly and left. Good for her. His forgiveness would come much faster if she was compliant.

Draco returned his gaze to the beautiful woman in the photograph who was now blowing him seductive kisses. Sure, she had none of the Veela's mate appeal that Granger unknowingly carried, but she was hot enough. He couldn't be expected to dance to _Granger_'s tune to get laid, now could he?

She'd understand.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**12:01 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

"Wait a second," Hermione said, her eyes narrowing. "You're telling me you're bored of me and so you're going to go shag Zabini's sister?"

Malfoy, who was lounging on her couch, gave her a smile. "Yep," he said, stretching. She tried not to watch how the muscles in his arm and chest moved, fixing her gaze on his satisfied face. "You told me to stop harassing you, so I am. Isn't it lovely what we can accomplish when we compromise?"

She stared at him without replying.

When he'd appeared in that creepy way of his in the middle of her apartment, somehow managing to land suavely in the middle of her couch, she'd naturally shot a hex at him. It missed. He'd simply smiled winningly at her, and told her in an excited voice that she didn't have to worry anymore because he had "somebody new in my life, Granger, that I can spend time ravishing!"

That had both stopped the next hex from coming out of her mouth and spurred it on, so the result had been a half-garbled, half nonverbal spell that had wavered out of existence a few seconds after it had left her wand.

Truth be told, she was a little hurt. Weren't Veelas supposed to be incapable of sleeping with anyone other than her mate? Sure, she wasn't about to offer up her services, but he might at least have the decency to ask her first before moving on. Wasn't it yesterday that he was telling her he wanted her?

_You refused, _she reminded herself. _Guys like him don't stay hooked on one woman for long, even a Veela. _

Hermione's eyes widened as, a second later, she realized something. "Maybe this means the bond is breaking!"

He gave a lazy shrug. "Sorry to break it to you, Granger, but I'm perfectly entitled to find another woman sexy. I'm even allowed to ravish her. There may be a few consequences afterwards that will not be mentioned, but that's where you come in. Isn't it lovely?"

_What was he talking about? _"Explain, Malfoy, before I hex your balls off."

He winked at her and said, "Considering the last couple of times you tried to hex me, one fizzed out before it left your wand, two - or was it three? - added to the lovely decor of your tiny shack, and the rest of them were blatant misses, you can take your best shot. Come on, Miss Brightest Witch Of Our Age. I won't even duck this time."

She considered taking him up on that offer, but reminded himself that violence solved nothing. Instead, she pinched her nostrils together and breathed deeply, not even caring that he was watching her with amusement. "What do you want from me, Malfoy?"

He sat up. "It's a multiple choice, Granger. Don't you wet your panties over those? And a side note, I don't mean the kind of 'wet' that firsties do on the first day of school. If you catch my drift." He winked at her and she blushed despite herself. Dammit! "And I think you do."

"Get on with it," she said through clenched teeth. He was infuriating.

"A. Let me ravish you, love," he said, his lips turning into a lopsided smile. She glared at him. "Moving on. B) Give me permission to ravish Miss Zabini, who, by the way, is rumored to be a _dragon_ in bed." Her glare intensified. He quailed a bit under her fierce stare and offered, "C) All of the above?"

"How about D) None of the above," Hermione bit out. "Now leave, I'm busy."

He groaned. "Granger, this is much more important that you realize. I can't do anything unless you give me permission."

"I'm not going to give you permission to sleep around, Malfoy," she said, exasperated. "Life isn't about sex. I'm _busy_."

"Granger, I'm serious, if you don't give me permission I swear I'll keep 'harassing' you until you cave in," Malfoy said, his voice low and serious. He gave her a look that made her think of that dream she'd had a couple weeks ago, a look that she could only classify as sexual.

Luckily, Hermione kept her wits about her at all times, and she snarkily replied, "Why don't you say that again in front of an Auror? Then you can go to jail."

"Fuck," Malfoy said, passing a hand across his face. "Why can't you make this easy for once?"

Hermione took a seat in one of her kitchen chairs that she'd dragged into the room yesterday and forgotten to take back. "Why is this so important? I mean, you went without sex for the first eighteen years of your life, why now?"

"Oh, Granger," he chuckled, shaking his head. She frowned at the little smile playing around his lips. "You are so naive! I believe it was fourteen years exactly."

He'd lost his virginity at fourteen? She gaped at him. He, naturally, smirked at her. Hermione was beginning to think he just had a default expression set at 'infuriating smirk.' She wouldn't be surprised if he spent time every morning practicing in the mirror.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**12:11 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He kept his default smirk on his face as he tried to figure out what to do.

In all honesty, he hadn't anticipated resistance on her front. Sure, he'd thought she'd be a bit prissy and rude, but _she_ wasn't about to sleep with him, so why should she get snippy when he suggested someone else did?

_Maybe she's feeling jealous_, he realized, his smirk widening slightly. The mass of emotions coming from her - he'd noticed she always felt at least six every second, it gave him a headache - at the moment boiled down to slight disgust, no doubt a reaction to his confession. Behind it, however, he sensed a lingering strain lurking, one that if he didn't know better would convince him she was sporting just a tint of Slytherin green envy.

_Score._

"That's disgusting, Malfoy," she sniped at him now. "No wonder you're obsessed with sex."

_Just because I'm not a frigid bitch who would rather stick an ice cold pole from the North Pole up her arse that actually enjoy himself doesn't make me obsessed with sex_, he thought to himself viciously before reconsidering.

Actually, she was probably right. He gave her a leering smile. "Nobody to date has complained about my...shall we say, _experienced_ technique, love."

She flushed.

He'd noticed she had a very vivid reaction to him calling her 'love'. Every time he said it, as mocking as it was intended to be, she softened slightly for a split second before Frigid Bitch was back in full force. Naturally, he resolved to use it more often.

Back to the problem at hand. He sensed she was a second away from booting him out of her apartment for good, and then he'd be screwed. Draco had come to the conclusion after a reluctant and rather awkward talk with Vedette that no matter how hard he tried, actually physically having sex with any woman without permission would have a negative effect. He could lust after her, kiss her, even get to third, but the second he entered her, _"the bond will recognize it as a betrayal."_

Apparently, the deal with the reporter was bearable because that had been pre-consummation with Granger. He shuddered to think what would happen after the bond was satisfied.

He had no choice. He supposed it would be beneficial to tell Granger anyway; she'd think he was beginning to trust her. Gryffindors were big on trust. It might even help her start to fall in love with him.

"Okay, Granger," he said, his voice serious. Granger, who had been in the middle of saying something snarky, snapped her mouth shut and looked at him curiously. "If I tell you something extremely secret and private, will you promise not to tell?"

_Don't overdo it, Draco_, he cautioned himself, watching her face turn slightly malicious. She arranged it to look innocent a few seconds later, but he could feel her brimming with opportunity. She was probably thinking that she'd learn his secret and tell the world. "Sure, Malfoy."

"Don't insult me by lying," he said instantly, and she had the grace to look down, ashamed. "You were going to tell all your little friends, possibly to redeem yourself after the Incident the other day, and make sure my life was just a little bit worse. Really, Granger, perhaps I shan't tell you after all."

Granger looked suitable ashamed. She kept her gaze on her feet and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Malfoy. You were right."

He felt the sincerity emanating from her and felt pleased. Despite himself, he'd been rather disappointed that she was quick to jump to thoughts of revenge. Sure, he might have done so, but she was...her! She was the perfect little Golden Girl. She didn't _do_ thoughts of revenge.

"Somebody is stealing money from _Sleeping Dragon_," he said without preamble. Her head snapped up and she looked at him, shocked. He held up a hand, forestalling any questions. "Yes, we have a pretty good idea who did it."

"The Zabinis," said Granger, reminding him why she was considered the smartest witch of her age. He, of course, was the smartest wizard. Naturally. "That's why you want my permission to sleep with Deteria for information. Merlin, Malfoy, why didn't you just tell me?"

He laughed, swinging his legs on the couch so he leaned against the armrest and faced her. "Granger, really. You're my enemy."

"I'm your mate."

"Touché."

Granger frowned, looking pensive. "Okay, Malfoy. Fine. I'll give you my permission as your mate to do what you have to with Deteria Zabini _only _for reasons concerning Operation: Zabini."

"Catchy."

"Thank you." Granger grinned at him. "That is, if I'm allowed to help."

Draco groaned.

Granger crossed her arms. "If you say it's because I'm a girl - "

He rolled his eyes very obviously. "No, Granger, but really, that's _so_ cliché. Can't you think of any other reason? I mean, do you know how often that happens in stories? Merlin. It's almost like you're asking for this to be a fiction tale."

She flushed and glared at him, sticking out her hand. "Just shake on it, Malfoy."

He took her hand and shook it firmly. _Merlin, what I've been reduced to. _"Done."

She smiled at him, then, and it took him by surprise. "Excellent. I was expecting more arguments."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Merlin, Granger, why are you so defensive _all the time?_"

Draco had the pleasure of watching her work her mouth around the word 'defensive' as she struggled to answer. He'd only meant it as a rhetorical question, something to throw her off beat for a second or two before she returned to the argumentative Granger he knew, but his offhand comment had obviously unsettled her.

"...I am not," she said rather lamely, mustering up a weak glare.

"Yes, you are," he shot back. Really, she was. Draco had always been irritated by her "it's me against the world" attitude, but he'd always figured it came from her trying to prove herself. Lately, with their "reintroduction" of sorts, he'd realized that same attitude had - _shudder_ - escalated. Every single thing he said, she'd argue against.

Really, though, it went beyond that. She was always working, and for what? Her stupid little business was a failure and it seemed like she'd squandered away all of her war earnings. _She probably is mad at herself for wasting her potential_, he mused to himself, _but, in typical Granger behavior, refuses to address the problem and blames the world for her failures._

"I am not defensive."

"That was quite defensive, really," he said, shaking his head. "Hey, Granger, I have a question."

Her scowl was ugly. "It better be important."

He wrinkled his nose at the blatant dislike emanating off of her. "What happened to all the money you got after the war?"

This threw her for a loop and she shrugged. "I donated it all," Granger replied after barely a beat. "To a foundation that protects orphans."

She doubtlessly got the idea from Potter's poor little childhood or some such bullshit. "Why the hell didn't you keep some?" Draco hit his head lightly to emphasize the failure of her past actions. "Your little ASAP would be off the ground."

Granger's face twisted into a curious mix of guilt and defensive anger. "Don't you think I know that, Malfoy?" She whirled around to pace up and down her little living room, twisting a bracelet on her wrist. Around and around and around. "I was young, okay?" Granger continued, launching into an explanation he hadn't asked for. "I thought my idea would be great. I thought I could change the world. I mean, _you_ made something of your life; why couldn't I?"

"Why didn't you work for the Ministry for a couple years, make connections and raise money?" Draco asked, for once not asking with an ulterior motive. He was genuinely curious. That was the smartest move, one he definitely would have taken in her position. He was confident Granger would have rationalized it out as well and figured the Ministry to be the best option. Why hadn't she taken the opportunity?

Perhaps reassured by Draco's lack of sarcastic comments, Granger turned to face him. "I couldn't bring myself to work there," she admitted, sliding her gaze past his shoulder after a second. "It felt like selling out. I wanted to do this all on my own."

"So you spent five years going nowhere," he said softly, and her head instantly snapped back to face his, fire in her gaze. "Hey, don't get feisty, Granger. You know it's the truth. Why won't you accept any help? Wait, don't tell me. I know." He met her gaze squarely. A flush spread out on her cheeks. "You were too proud."

"Get out, Malfoy," she said suddenly, biting her lip. "Don't come in here and insult me."

"I thought we were partners now," he mocked, snapping back to his 'Bastard Self' instantly. Granger was no different than anybody else he'd met. When confronted with truths she didn't want to hear, she lashed out instead of facing them head on. Really, wasn't she mature enough to handle it? "And you're honestly saying that now, after all the other times I've come in here and insulted you, now you want me out?"

"Just leave," she said softly, yet there was an undercurrent of anger. She was getting upset, he could see, and an upset Granger was an unpredictable one. He sneered at her head and disapparated, not willing to expend any more energy into talking to her. It was strange, but for a minute there, they'd actually been _talking_.

Then she'd gone and fucked it up in her self-righteous anger.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**12:30 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She collapsed on the couch after he left, torn between anger at him and anger at herself.

How did he do that? How did he come into her apartment, turn her victory into an argument, and manage to read her spot on?

It was true, all of it, but what Malfoy didn't know was that her defensiveness stretched far beyond work issues. She knew it was true. Hermione possessed a formidable brain that was both her greatest strength and biggest weakness. She had the capabilities to analyze exactly what she was doing, determine it bad, and do it anyway.

At first, it had been easy to do everything by herself. It had been the smartest strategy. Ron was wrapped up in trying to land a Quidditch position, Harry and Ginny were caught up in their world-wind romance, and the rest of the Wizarding World was trying to come to grasps with the losses sustained after the war. She'd fled to university with Padma, leaving her old friends behind. Even when she returned, they didn't notice her drawing away, working late into the night, eating crappy take out and wearing herself out.

Hermione had donated the money the day after she'd gotten it. It was dirty money. At the time, she'd believed it to be beneath her to accept a gift like that; it seemed to cheapen her loyalty, her victory. It made her seem like she'd just done it for the money.

She hadn't been entirely honest with Malfoy. She hadn't exactly donated to a foundation; she had started a foundation. The _Harry Potter Orphan Foundation_ could only be traced back to her by illegal means. Hermione had practically given it to Cho Chang, who'd had a change of heart shortly after the war. She'd shaved her head and announced to the world that she was donating herself to charitable non-profit work. Hermione's little boost was all that she needed.

Hermione sighed, cracking her knuckles. It had all gone downhill from there. It had started with Ron accusing her of never being there for him - which she wasn't - and in response she'd begun working later and later hours. She was smart, but not business smart, and Hermione soon found herself spiraling downward into debt. ASAP was going nowhere. Still, she'd refused to admit that it never would.

Standing now, she stretched her back.

Her fall had been fast and brutal. Used to barely speaking to her friends, she found it easier if she didn't confide in them. They didn't understand. They thought she was being prideful. Maybe she was, a little, but she wasn't going to give up! She'd spent nearly three years working on ASAP, and she wasn't going to admit they had been in waste.

Until Malfoy pointed it out.

Hermione tried to muster up the normal hatred. The prat! The bastard! How dare he?

Still, it didn't feel right.

He had read her correctly, and she couldn't even hate him for it. Her best friends, people she hardly even talked to anymore, didn't notice - well, maybe Harry, just a bit. Still, they couldn't tell that their friendship had deteriorated. They still thought it was because she was working too hard. Malfoy probably noticed the night she'd told Harry and Ron about the bond, the scarily observant little prick that he was.

Hermione sighed and massaged her temples. There was no point musing about the past. She would do what it took to achieve the perfect life. She could do it alone. She could. She was _Hermione Granger_.

She didn't need anybody.


	11. Chapter 10: OTHER CHARACTERS WHOO

**A/N: This chapter is...interesting. Maybe a little boring for some. Don't judge yet though! Quite a few of you told me you wanted to hear about the other characters, so, with great ado, I present...**

**A Very Long Friday (And Some of Saturday) In Which Other Characters Get Face Time.**

**Psyched?**

**Lehhgooooo.**

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

**1:01 PM**

**(Daphne Greengrass' P.O.V)**

She sat at the small coffee table, tucked away in the corner of the café, and drank her chocolate hazelnut mocha with a sort of detached enjoyment.

Sure, she could appreciate the way the flavors mixed and swirled in a food connoisseur-esque way, but the caffeine sugar mix wasn't giving her the kick it usually did. And therein lied the problem.

Draco was out with that tart, Deteria, which she knew simply because Blaise wouldn't shut the hell up about it. He seemed extremely pleased that his sister and her "honorary brother" was shacking up. Daphne thought otherwise.

She'd had the chance to briefly re-meet Deteria earlier today, and Daphne had instantly disliked her. Sure, Deteria had been a bitch in Hogwarts, but all Slytherins were at one point or another. It was a coping technique. Even now, Deteria was the epitome of snobby pureblood. She was the type of girl that Draco would take to Ministry balls, shag, and discard in the gutter the next day. Why was he doing this? Especially since he had Granger hanging around him all the time.

Daphne narrowed her eyes as a thought crossed her mind. If Draco was enough of a bastard to Deteria, then she'd surely come running to Blaise in distress. This was undoubtedly all a plot to break her and Blaise up! Merlin, Draco was a manipulative little prat -

"Daphne Greengrass?"

Daphne looked up, her wand drawn under the table, to see the tired face of Hermione Granger staring down at her.

Damn. Exactly whom she wanted to see. _Not_.

"Granger," Daphne greeted her coolly. "What do you want?"

Granger sighed, cradling the coffee mug in her hand. Daphne was struck by the utter exhaustion in the other woman's face. Why did perfect little Miss Granger look so damn tired? "I just saw you sitting over here," she said, shrugging. "I thought I might say hello."

The silence stretched on as Daphne debated what to say. On one hand, she did not want to speak to Granger, not now, not ever. On the other, there was something serious behind the look in Granger's eye, and Daphne was willing to bet money that Draco was partially behind it all. She couldn't in good conscious ignore Granger in this state. Perhaps it was her feminine sensitivity kicking in, but as Granger muttered a soft apology and turned to go, Daphne pointed to the seat opposite her. "Sit down, Granger."

A slightly suspicious look crossed the other woman's face before she sat obediently. "Okay."

She didn't put down her drink, and Daphne eyed Granger curiously. "You can put down your coffee, Granger."

"My hands are cold," Granger answered softly, blushing slightly. She squeezed the mug before putting it down reluctantly.

Okay, this was strange. Daphne stared at the other woman before shaking her head. "What's the matter?"

Granger stiffened. "Nothing."

"Don't lie to me," Daphne said coolly, staring the other woman down. "I can tell."

Granger expelled a little laugh that was almost a sigh. "Of course you can," she said softly, shaking her head. "All you Slytherins are the same."

Nothing rankled Daphne more than sweeping generalizations, especially ones she'd heard so often it was a miracle she didn't believe them to be true. "Just like all you Gryffindors are the same?" Daphne replied curtly, injecting malice into her voice when she said the G-word. "Really, Granger, grow up."

Another soft chuckle. Okay, this moment was rapidly rising on Daphne's Oddity-Meter, and Daphne had quite a few odd moments in her memory. "Funny," Granger commented, taking a long draw of her coffee.

When she didn't elaborate, Daphne tried to give her the Look she'd copied from Draco long ago. (Of course, when Daphne said 'copied,' she really meant she took the amateur effort of Draco and twisted it to fit her purposes. He'd promptly copied it back from her. Really, it took a girl to teach him how to properly glare). On one hand, Daphne was itching to know what Granger was talking about. She was loath to admit it, but this solemn, quiet Granger was not aligned with her memory of the cheerfully unpopular girl she'd been in Hogwarts. Daphne, perhaps in light of recent events, was willing to re-evaluate her perspective on Granger, even if it was only because she wouldn't say no to another girl companion. On the other hand, Daphne was hesitant into letting her guard down just yet. She'd been hurt far too often in the past to allow this to happen.

Should she inquire as to what the hell Granger was talking about, or wait her out? Sometimes, Daphne loathed being a Slytherin, if only because there were always many potential avenues of action to sort through. Others had it so easy. Did Ron Weasley think through all his actions before doing something stupid? Of course not. Yes, she'd recently acted quite stupid, but that was all the more reason to carefully consider her next move.

Luckily, Granger put down her mug and gave Daphne a wry smile. "I could have said those words along with you. Merlin knows I've said them enough to Malfoy."

Before she could stop herself - for even Daphne slipped up - her face showed a hint of the anguish she was feeling.

Granger caught it, damn her. "I reckon you have enough to worry about concerning Malfoy without me piling on," she said, and Daphne almost had to agree. "His birthday's Sunday, I'm sure you know that. Did you plan the last one? It was brilliant."

This unexpected praise from the Golden Girl of Gryffindor teased a cordial reply out of Daphne. "Thanks," she said, and decided to give Granger something in return. After all, it couldn't exactly be the easiest thing in the world to speak to your Veela's best friend. "I'm supposed to be planning Sunday's affair, but I haven't made much progress."

Granger actually looked thoughtful. "Have you spoken to him about themes?"

Daphne wrinkled her nose as she remembered _that_ conversation. "Briefly."

"You're fighting with him, aren't you?" This observation, seemingly entirely out of character for Granger, took Daphne by surprise. Where had that come from? Daphne opened her mouth to deny it, to say something nasty, to distance herself from this strange comradeship that was forming between them, but Granger shook her head. "I don't need to know. Honestly, I'd rather not talk anymore about Malfoy."

"I agree," Daphne said, as Granger surprised her for the second time in thirty seconds. "You're running a business, aren't you? How is that going?"

She stiffened. Daphne noticed this. interesting. "It's not going so well," Granger admitted carefully. "I'm not much of a businesswoman, to tell you the truth."

The words were out before Daphne could stop them. "Not many know this, but Draco couldn't have done shit without Theo and I. What's not working?"

**Friday**

**1:30 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

Had Daphne Greengrass just offered to help? Hermione smiled brightly, ignoring the fact that the past thirty minutes had left her with some serious rethinking to do. Honestly, she'd always thought Greengrass was just another cold Slytherin, a female version of Malfoy.

Hermione could admit when she was wrong, and she admitted it now.

"It's not exactly a business," Hermione said, to stop the silence from stretching. "I wanted to start a research firm, but I'm afraid I'm only good at the actually researching and inventing portion. I've no idea how to get any money to start it."

Greengrass was clearly thinking about the problem, actually _thinking_about it, instead of silently mocking her. She took another sip of her coffee, waiting for the other woman to speak. Truthfully, saying hello to Greengrass had been a completely random act. Hermione had gone out for a quick cup of coffee after speaking to Padma, and when she'd seen Greengrass sitting in the corner, almost looking lost, Hermione had gone over without a second thought.

The other woman was surprising. She had a sharp tone and a no-nonsense exterior that Hermione could respect. Obviously, her and Malfoy were in a fight, but Hermione didn't want to know. Not really. It was probably Malfoy's fault, and anyway, he'd been consuming her life entirely too much lately. Hermione was debating whether to attend his birthday party. She'd received an invitation already - surprisingly enough - but hadn't answered it.

Greengrass opened her mouth again. "I have a few ideas," she said, before her watch beeped. Greengrass checked it and her lips pursed, just slightly, before she returned her gaze to Hermione. "Perhaps we can talk about them tomorrow? I have a meeting in thirty minutes, and I need to mentally prepare myself before speaking to Draco."

This delivery, completely straight-faced and serious, confused Hermione. Was the other woman joking? Her answer was questioned when Greengrass rolled her eyes and actually cracked a smile. "Lighten up, Granger," she said. "I'll owl you."

"Bye," Hermione said, feeling as if she'd stepped into a rabbit hole. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise," said Greengrass, who quickly walked away.

Hermione finished her coffee in silence, thinking about her day. It had been rather taxing so far. First, there had been that confrontation with Draco. Next, she'd called Padma on the phone, who had spent five minutes ranting about how stupid Hermione was, the next ten telling her that Malfoy was a huge prat, and the remaining ten ordering Hermione to "stop acting like a pansy and be the strong woman I know you are."

It had actually been quite energizing. Revitalizing, almost.

Hermione finished her drink and set the mug down on the table, tapping it with her wand. It disappeared instantly. She checked her watch - Harry should be home from his morning stint at the Ministry by now. Ginny had told Padma who had told Hermione that Harry was quite upset and wanting to talk to her, but in his sulky, purely _boyish_ way, was refusing to come himself.

She knew she _should_talk to him, but she wasn't up for anymore strange conversations today. No, she was going to go home and have a day for herself. She had a bit of ice cream left in her freezer, and a few Muggle movies to catch up on. Hermione firmly believed she needed a day to gather her thoughts before she confronted anybody else.

**Friday**

**6:00 PM**

**(Theodore Zabini's P.O.V)**

He reclined on his balcony, watching in amusement as the people on the street below him went upon their business. He was eating a lovely sandwich his house elf had prepared for him, drinking a nice bottle of Firewhiskey, had the wireless playing softly, and was prepared for a nice Friday night all to himself.

That is, until Daphne appeared on his balcony as well.

Damn. She had that look in her eyes, the one where she'd recently come to a conclusion she wasn't about to budge up on. Theo hated to admit it, but he'd always liked that look, full of passion and fire and -

_Theodore,_ he cautioned himself. _Stop__it._

He prided himself on being realistic, but something about his best friend made that quite difficult to accomplish sometimes.

"Daphne," he said, his voice even. "I'd appreciate it if you did not invite yourself on my Friday nights."

She gave him a smirk. "Yes," she said, voice teasing, "I know Fridays are your 'me' times. Merlin, Theo, you certainly do have a wild side tonight. Firewhiskey _and_ music? You could almost pretend you're out clubbing."

"Why aren't you and the beau out clubbing, Daphne?" Theo asked, ignoring her jibe. He took another sip of Firewhiskey and watched a couple on the streets below engage in a fiery kiss.

Daphne sighed and took a seat opposite him. "Blaise is out with his sister," she said, rolling back her shoulders and sighing. "Give me a shot, Theo."

Why did she do this to him? Why did she appear on his balcony on Fridays like she used to, smiling at him and teasing him, stretching and relaxing around _him_ like he made her feel safe? He had once, months ago, perhaps even weeks ago, when the Silver Trio would spend hours on his balcony, making fun of those below them, drinking and eating.

And then she'd gotten herself a boytoy, Draco was being a bastard to his mate, and he was left alone.

"I hardly think Blaise would appreciate you drinking with another man on a Friday night," he said softly, his eyes roving over her appearance. She looked better than she had earlier, almost calmer.

Daphne shrugged. "What Blaise doesn't know won't hurt him," she said, flashing him a wicked smile.

"No," Theo said, feeling a wave of dislike roll though him. Yes, he disapproved completely of their relationship, but he was not about to let her get drunk with him and lie about it to Blaise. "Go home, Daphne."

The playfulness disappeared from her in an instant. "You'll never guess who I met today," said Daphne, leaning back in her chair. "Hermione Granger."

Theo raised an eyebrow, preparing himself for a jealous tirade. "And?"

Daphne surprised him by quirking her lips. "I offered to meet with her tomorrow to help her with her business."

Granger, again. Merlin. He really had to meet this woman soon. Without letting on how much it surprised him that Daphne was offering to help - was she secretly harboring a plan to take the other woman down? - he simply asked, "Oh?"

Daphne shrugged. His sharp eyes caught the action, dissecting it. He wasn't sure how to act around Daphne, anymore. He didn't enjoy treating his friend like a dungbomb about to explode, but Theo was also well versed in the ways of self-preservation. "I'm not sure why I did, actually," Daphne offered up. Well. This was interesting. Perhaps this new, open side of Daphne was a way to make amends? Was it calculated or real? Theo narrowed his eyes.

"It's very charitable of you."

Daphne quirked a smile. "Oh, shut up, Theo. I know you're judging me." Daphne looked down and picked at her nail polish before seemingly realizing how vulnerable she was exposing herself to be. Her hands smoothed at her sides. "Granger just looked so...tired, I suppose."

Theo didn't say it outright, but as he eyed the circles under Daphne's eyes, barely covered by concealer, the parallels between the two woman was blatantly unsaid. "Daphne," he said softly, "Are you sure this isn't to get back at Draco?"

She was up and pacing, hands clenched at her sides, before he could process her shift in mood. This Daphne wasn't safe. This Daphne was prone to hexes and sudden outbursts of emotions. This Daphne was quite nearly Gryffindor. "I am so sick of Draco!" Daphne said. "It's _Draco_ this and _Draco_ that. Merlin, I am sick of that man."

This made Theo smile. Daphne and Draco had quite a volatile relationship, one born from more sibling rivalry than anything. _Another__reason__for__why__a__relationship__between__those__two__would__never__work,_ his subconscious whispered before he shut it down. "His birthday is on Sunday, you know. I warrant that deserves a bit of attention."

Whether she was ignoring him or she simply did not hear, Theo didn't know. Daphne continued her rant nonetheless. "I mean, Granger's run ragged, probably stressing about him all the time. Half the time, all Blaise talks about is Draco and his sister, and I am sick of him making me feel guilty every time I see him!"

Theo opened his mouth to point out that she deserved it when Daph sent him a glare that was positively ferocious. And pretty damn attractive.

_Control yourself._

"Don't you say anything, Theo," Daphne continued passionately. "I know I bloody well deserved it, but I honestly have enough to worry about with that prat making me feel like rubbish. I've barely had any sleep lately, and Blaise keeps pestering me - " Theo watched intently as Daphne froze before continuing on a different plane, obviously changing the subject. "I haven't talked to you in forever."

Theo, however, was Theo and didn't let the matter go. "What is Blaise pestering you about, Daph?"

Daphne's mouth worked as she tried to decide what to say.

Now, Theo loved Daphne in more ways than one, but he wasn't above guilt tripping her into speaking. He arranged his face mournfully and took a long drag of his drink. "You don't have to tell me," he said, voice soft, staring out of his balcony. "It's okay, Daph."

As expected, Daphne sighed loudly and sat back down. "The bloody prat keeps saying we aren't shagging enough," she admitted, and Theo very nearly spit out his drink.

He did _not_need to know that.

"Excellent," he said hastily, mentally throwing up at the thought of the copulating couple while simultaneously doing internal backflips at the thought that said copulating couple weren't copulating anymore.

She laughed at his discomfort. "You asked."

"I've decided I do not want to know more."

Daphne flipped her hair and gave him a smile, and it was so like the old her that he ignored the awkwardness of the conversation. "Anyway, you distracted me earlier. I've decided that you are going to help me help Granger."

"Why on Earth would I do that?" Theo said, just to distract her, as he mulled it over.

On one hand, it meant spending large amounts of time with Daphne and Granger without Draco.

On the other, it meant spending large amounts of time with _Daphne_ and Granger _without_ Draco.

He was in.

**Friday**

**6:00 PM**

**(Narcissa Malfoy's P.O.V)**

On a scale of one to ten, she supposed her relationship with Draco had proceeded to a four. Perhaps a four point four. Not entirely the result she wanted, but she supposed coming from zero, a 4.4 wasn't overly disappointing.

A relationship that certainly _was_ at zero was her sister, Andromeda. Narcissa sighs she re-reads a letter for the fifth time, still unsure as to her next course of action.

_Narcissa -_

_I have heard you are back in England. We have much to discuss, especially concerning your son and Hermione Granger._

_Saturday, 12:00 PM at my place._

_-Andromeda_

It was short, curt, and hardly sisterly, but it was something. Of course Andy knew about the Veela blessing. How had Narcissa forgotten? The first time Andy had seen Draco she would have undoubtedly known -

Narcissa paused as a new thought struck her. When _had_ her sister seen Draco? Narcissa could not remember a time when the two had met.

"Still pondering, _mi__cara_?"

Narcissa smiled at the lilting accent. Draco and Vedette had hardly spoken lately, but the portrait had been invaluable to Narcissa. Although Vedette's image had been preserved at a young age, she had been through quite a lot in her short years. "Hello, Vedette."

"What is in the letter?" Vedette asked, moving fluidly through the portraits until she reached a small one sitting on the coffee table in front of Narcissa. She titled her head up and brushed blond hair away from her face. "Is it from Draco?"

Narcissa shook her head. "It's from my sister," she said softly. "Andy wants me to visit tomorrow to discuss the Veela situation."

Vedette crossed her legs and gave Narcissa a calculating look. "Simply to discuss this situation?"

"Of course," Narcissa said. Although she wanted to entertain thoughts that her sister wished to speak to her for other reasons, she knew Andy wasn't likely to forgive and forget any time soon. "Andy holds grudges, Vedette. It's the Black genes."

"The Black genes that are in you as well," Vedette pointed out, her voice soft. "Narcissa, I would not dispose of this situation quite so easily, _mi__cara_. This could be the opportunity you are waiting for."

It was occasionally jarring for Narcissa to hear a younger woman call her _mi__cara,_my dear, but one could not look at Vedette and not feel younger, humbled. The other woman had a grace and presence, even in a painting, that Narcissa acknowledged. "I don't know, Vedette," Narcissa admitted, shaking her head. It was easy to tell the truth in the company of the other woman. Perhaps they both knew the other would not judge. "Andy is quite close with Harry Potter and the Weasleys."

"Even better," Vedette said. "This provides an opportunity to redeem yourself, and the Malfoy-Black name, in the eyes of them as well."

Narcissa sighed, and she bit her lip. "I suppose, Vedette."

Vedette's smile was gentle. "Excellent, _mi__cara._Reply to her now."

Narcissa summoned her elf and began to ask for a sheet of her nicest parchment, but then she changed her mind. "Get me a simple type," she ordered her elf. "Not too fussy."

Her letter was only slightly longer than her sister's:

_Dear Andromeda,_

_I await this visit eagerly. You are correct in saying we have much to discuss, far more than the simple Veela matter. I trust you have heard from Harry Potter all about the blessing; I am sure he is very agitated. Please, try to keep an open mind about this mess. I'm sure you remember Bella's situation. Would you like me to bring Draco?_

_Narcissa_

**Friday**

**8:00 PM**

**(Harry Potter's P.O.V)**

He couldn't get over it. Hermione was always the most reasonable of them all, the one with her head screwed on straight. He couldn't even remember the last time she went on a second date!

Ginny had stopped frowning at his angry muttering half an hour ago and left to put James to bed, but he still wouldn't budge.

Harry had gone to the library yesterday and checked out five books on Veelas. He'd been researching the cruse when not doing his Auror work, and the more he read the more hopeless he became.

How? How could Hermione, his Mione, be a _mate_? Bonded to _Draco__Malfoy_, the little fucker? How was that even allowed? Harry's eyes dropped to the Blood Bond hidden on his wrist. Hermione was bonded to _him_. She was _his_. He'd laid claim on her first - as a sister, of course - and Malfoy had no right to barge in.

Ginny came back into the room and perched on the arm of his chair, leaning forward to talk to him. "Harry, dear," she said, her voice low, caressing the syllables. "James is asleep."

Harry grunted, his eyes roving the page. _There__is__no__known__cure,__and__while__most__Veelas__coexist__with__their__mate,__a__few__pairs__have__trouble__adjusting..._

Ginny frowned and tried again. "Harry, love," she whispered, her voice a suggestive lilt. "James is asleep and we have the whole house...to _ourselves_."

'_The Veela pairs that cannot live with each other are theorized to be created with a flaw in the genetic material, and cannot live in close proximity; however, they are reports of the members finding happiness elsewhere.'_

Mione did have a chance, then. Well, Harry would bloody make sure that she was happy. He didn't nearly die with her only to have her unhappy. "Listen, Gin," he muttered tiredly. "Can we do this later? I'm busy."

His wife was determined, however, and she trailed kisses up the side of his jaw to end up near his ear. He didn't move. "I want you, Harry," Ginny very nearly moaned in his ear. "Merlin, it's been so long, Harry, _please_."

Normally, he'd discard the book in favor of a shag with Ginny, especially a Ginny that was coming close to begging. Normally. However, this wasn't a normal situation, and this wasn't just for anybody that he was researching. This was for Hermione. "Gin, I need to finish this."

Ginny didn't give up. She tugged the book out of his hands and Banished it to some part of their house, eliciting a groan of disapproval. Ignoring this, she clambered onto his lap and pressed her body into his, stretching like a cat. "You're working too hard," said Ginny. "Hermione can research on her own. Merlin she knows she beats you at researching. She doesn't need you." The redhead paused to shoot him a 'come-hither' type look.

His jaw tightened. "Listen, Ginny, I am not going to abandon my best friend." He shifted uncomfortably as under her weight as she shot him an angry glare.

"No, you listen, Harry," Ginny said, taking a deep, calming breath. "You can't fix things for Hermione. I know she's like your sister but she can handle Malfoy on her own."

Well, Ginny could say all that she wanted, but Harry wasn't going to listen. He loved Hermione, and he wasn't going to just settle and wait for her to battle things out herself. She'd never once left him alone, and he was hardly going to do that to her. Even Ron agreed with him on that one. "Ginny, Hermione needs somebody to stand up for her."

"She has Padma!" Ginny protested. Harry tried to think of a polite way to get her off his lap - he loved Ginny, but Merlin, he was getting a cramp. He knew that if he said anything she'd get offended, though. Harry had always been rubbish at talking to girls. "She has Ron, and her parents, and all of her friends."

"So you're suggesting that I should stand by simply because she has others there for her? Newsflash, Gin, her parents are in Australia and I'm the best she's got." Harry closed his mouth with a snap after the final heated word left it. Shit. Why the hell didn't he have a mental filter?

Ginny pulled away, eyes flashing. Damn. GInny always got upset by these declarations of his love for Hermione, but at the same time, Harry thought rebelliously, he was rather damn tired of it. "Harry, this isn't Hogwarts anymore," she protested, making an obvious effort not to hex him. "Hermione's a big girl. Your first priority is your family, Harry, and that is me and James."

"Hermione _is_ part of my family, Ginny." He said quietly, willing his eyes away from the Bond on his wrist.

Ginny stood, red hair whipping around. Despite the irate looks he was getting that promised certain harm, Harry couldn't help but thank Merlin she was off his lap. His legs had fallen asleep. "Merlin, Harry, one would think you were in love with her!"

"I am not," he said automatically. "I love you, Ginny."

"Well you sure as hell don't show it," GInny said dramatically. "Maybe you should had married her instead!"

Harry sat, shellshocked, as Ginny stormed away. Yes, he loved Hermione but didn't _love_ her -

Did he?

His eyes dropped again to his wrist and he rubbed it, uncomfortable. Why did Ginny always do this? He was simply trying to help his best friend, and Ginny had to get jealous. Merlin.

Harry opened the next book on his list and began reading, ignoring all thoughts of his wife for the moment. He was unsettled by their argument but he knew from experience the best thing to do was to leave her alone. Anyway, he had Hermione to think about. He wouldn't give up. Not for her. Not now.

**Friday**

**8:15 PM**

**(GInny Weasley's P.O.V)**

Merlin's saggy left testicle, that prat was acting like he was bloody well in love with Hermione! Ginny was sick of it, sick of hearing of hearing _Mione_in every other sentence out of her husband's mouth. Harry had James, and Harry had her. Why did he even need Hermione?

Yes, at the beginning of Ginny and Harry's relationship, Hermione had always been a little too close to Harry for her liking, but Ginny ignored it. The two were best friends, siblings. They'd nearly died together. They'd spent seven years nearly dying together. That kind of bond wasn't easily erased, but Ginny consoled herself by remembering that _she_ had Harry. Harry loved _her_.

James was asleep, and it was the perfect opportunity to spend some alone time with Harry. What did he do? Did he give her that lazy, sexy smirk and tell her to "get ready, hon," and that'd he'd "be right there"?

No.

He'd brushed her away, argued with her, blown her off to do some research for _Hermione._

Ginny considered herself very reasonable, but she couldn't always control herself when Hermione was in the picture. Bloody Hermione. Ginny also considered herself best friends with Hermione - they'd practically lived with each other for more than seven years - but the other woman had to back the fuck off.

Ginny sighed and got into bed, drawing the covers up around her. She was tired of thinking about Hermione, the third person in Harry and her supposed marriage of two.

**Friday**

**8:15 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unaware of the drama that had been playing out all day. Draco had been holed up in his office for the past couple of hours, and he was pleased to say that he was all caught up on his workload.

He jabbed his wand to the right, muttering Theo's name distractedly as his eyes searched for a specific document. He'd been sketching out some plans for the Zabini Operations that he wanted his crafty friend to look at before Draco discussed it with his mother.

No reply came from Theo's office. Draco frowned and repeated the motion, a silverly blue stream of light flashing in the dark office before disappearing. Draco hadn't ventured out of his office since the incident with Granger, but he was sure Theo was next door diligently working. Where else would he be? Theo and Daphne weren't speaking, which only led Draco - unless Theo wanted to speak to Gregory or Zabini, which Draco doubted.

When, yet again, no answering spell came from Theo's office, Draco tried a different spell. He went over to the wall connecting their offices and traced a small square on it with his glowing wand, murmuring various incantations under his breath. When he pulled his wand away, the square turned transparent and Draco peered into Theo's office.

Where the devil was he?

Draco scowled, storming out of his office. The few dedicated employees who were still there at 8:00 PM on a Friday night - there was a suspicious lack of them - looked up curiously as their boss reached Daphne's new office and flung the door open.

She wasn't there either, by Merlin.

Where the hell were his friends? Why were they abandoning _Dragon_? They had a tradition, Draco thought moodily. Work late on Fridays and then go to Theo's and get drunk. Now it looked like they'd all abandoned him.

Draco didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. _He__'__d_ managed to put aside his personal drama with the Frigid Bitch in order to get some serious work done. _He_ stayed at his company all day, not opening his door for any distractions. _He__'__d_ spent an inordinate amount of time going over numbers through Floo with Gringotts, figuring out a plan for the next couple of weeks.

What had they done?

Nothing.

**Friday**

**9:30 PM**

**(Ron Weasley's P.O.V)**

Unbeknownst to him, Ron was feeling quite similar to Draco Malfoy at the moment. Of course, if he knew he was sharing _anything_ with the ferret, he'd probably ask George to help him off himself. Luckily for his life, Ron was unaware that the resentment he was feeling towards his two best friends was nearly identical to Malfoy's.

Ron had stopped by Hermione's tiny flat the other day to try a newly written apology. All he'd managed to get out was "I reckon I could've worked a bit harder last time so I didn't bollocks it up, but Mione, a bloke has other things to worry about too," before she'd crisply informed him she was having a 'me day' and that he was not involved.

What was up her arse?

Ron hadn't even managed to get to the good part of the apology, where he'd managed to not insult the slimy snake more than twice. Blimey, had Hermione no respect for him? What in Merlin's name was a 'me day,' anyhow?

From there, Ron had stopped by the Burrow to say hi to his parents and perhaps see if Harry and Ginny were there, but he'd got roped into eating a tea snack - if it made his mum happy, he'd do it - and so it took another hour before he Apparated to the Ministry to find Harry.

Ron scowled as he remember how it had taken him nearly thirty minutes to locate somebody who could tell him where Harry was, only to find that he'd just gone home while Ron was talking to the stupid security guard. The git. Ron had gone to Harry's house but, as he stood outside the door preparing to knock, heard the most frightful wail coming from titchy little James Potter.

Naturally, Ron had left in a hurry.

Ron, who was sitting in his own flat, eating takeout, bit into a piece of bread moodily. When he'd gone _back_to Harry's house, his own sister had muttered something about Harry being obsessed with Veelas and told him to come back tomorrow after she'd "knocked some sense into the giant prat."

All of this had led to his current position, alone in his flat on a Friday night, listening to a Quidditch game on the wireless and utterly alone.

His friends were useless.

Ron munched on his supper, thinking about how damn _lame_ he was at the moment. If Harry and Hermione had thought to abandon him, well, he'd bloody well abandon them.

So Ron, being Ron, shoveled the rest of his supper into his mouth and Floo called some of the boys from Quidditch, asking them to go out for a pint.

**Friday**

**10:00 PM**

**(Blaise Zabini's P.O.V)**

The plan was going brilliantly.

He'd stole a fair bit of money from that bastard Malfoy, and he knew nobody could pin it on him. In fact, his mother had revealed that Malfoy blamed his mother. How bloody perfect was that?

Even better, he had plans to do it again. Oh, the possibilities were unlimited. Blaise fully intended to take a galleon for every single time that asshole had insulted him, made him look stupid, and managed to one-up him. It would take Malfoy - well, Malfoy's money - a bloody long time to repay him, Blaise thought gleefully. The best part was, he had Malfoy's girl!

He had never intended to get with Daphne. But, when he'd run into the woman while staking out Malfoy's place, Blaise hadn't been able to control himself. There had always been something about bossy, smart, sexy witches that made his mouth water. After all, when Blaise had managed to get Daphne to submit to _him_, well, he longed to march up to Malfoy's rat face and tell him exactly what one third of the Silver Trio was doing night after night.

Oh, and Daphne was so willing, too. All it took were some pretty words, gifts, and fun nights out to have Daph clinging to him. The best part was, Malfoy didn't even try to break them up.

Still, Daphne had been holding out on him lately. Blaise frowned as he recalled the past couple of weeks, where when he'd come into her flat and kissed her and commanded her to strip, she'd refused. "I'm too busy," Blaise mocked her voice. "Draco has me doing all the work I missed at the same time as the work I have to do now."

Well, Malfoy could go fuck himself. Or rather, fuck somebody else.

That was where Deteria came in.

Daphne had shaken her head when he proposed the idea of those two getting together. To her, it was unthinkable. "You're offering your sister up to shag somebody you hate?" Daph had asked incredulously.

Not exactly. Blaise didn't quite want to think about his sister's sexual exploits in great detail, but when he'd told Det about the plan, she'd offered herself. Even though he'd been solidly against it at the beginning, it not only made perfect sense, but it also helped his relationship with Daph. After all, if Malfoy was caught up in his sister, he hardly could break Blaise and Daph up.

Blaise smirked maliciously. Malfoy had always said Blaise was almost worse at being a Slytherin than Crabbe and Goyle. He'd be eating his words now, Blaise knew it.

A commotion from his Floo distracted Blaise from his thoughts, and he looked to see his sister clambering ungracefully through the grate. Blaise winced at the image. She did not look as happy as he thought she would. "Merlin, Blaise," Deteria said angrily. "Your Floo is disgraceful. Have you changed the wards again?"

"Of course not," Blaise shot back. "It's just that you never could use a Floo."

His sister furrowed dark, slim eyebrows and gave him a rather rude hand gesture. That was Deteria, all right. Their mother always said that Det came out of her womb cursing the world. She sniffed, arranged her hair, and sat gracefully down on his couch.

"It didn't go well, then?" Blaise offered up.

"Well? It went fabulously," Deteria said, her voice acidic. He grinned, but his hopes were shot down as she continued, "If fabulous means that Draco sent me a note telling me that he couldn't make it because of work."

Work? Draco didn't do work. He slimed his way into a high position and hexed people in order to get their galleons. What was Malfoy playing at?

Deteria sniffed again and shifted on the couch. "I told him that if he didn't see me tomorrow at 12:00 sharp, he's lost all chance with me," she said, her nose turning up slightly. "He told me ten minutes later he had just made a reservation at _Talons_ for that time."

Blaise whistled. _Talons_ was an expensive wizarding lunch place, only for the elite. How the hell did Malfoy bypass the six-month waiting list to coolly get a reservation for _Talons_ in ten minutes?

_Probably__killed__somebody__to__get__them__off__the__waiting__list,_ Blaise thought morbidly. Merlin, he hated that man.

Deteria sighed and stood up. "Mother says the plans are going well," she continued, her voice shifting into fluidity. "Remember: 33%."

"Not hardly," said Blaise incredulously. "Det, you haven't done shit. 10%."

She looked away, running her hand along the back of his couch. Blaise watched suspiciously as his sister paced up and down, appearing to consider his proposal. "No. You think I will settle for such a measly sum? Merlin, Blaise, it's like you aren't my brother. 33% of the profit and be thankful it isn't more."

"15%," Blaise conceded, "And that's my final offer."

Her eyes flashed and the sly Deteria from five seconds earlier vanished in a blink of an eye. "You listen to me, Blaise. I expect money, and I expect it soon. Do you understand?"

Blaise eyed his _younger_ sister and puffed out his chest. "No, Deteria, I don't," he said, imitating her threatening tone. "I'll give you 15%, not a galleon more, and you will be happy. Do _you_ understand?"

His sister's laugh was high and mocking. "Give it to me, Blaise!"

"No."

Deteria yelled in frustration and shot a nasty hex at him. Blaise dove to the floor and pulled out his own wand, eyes flashing. "Stupefy!" Blaise shouted, aiming at his sister's legs.

She blocked it and shot a _Confringo_ at him - what the hell was she thinking? - but Blaise managed to Expelliarmus her wand away from her. Spats between the siblings were not uncommon, but Deteria had always won back in their school days. Well, if Det didn't know by now, he was different. Blaise considered himself a new man, a changed man, one who was ultimately stronger and much more badass than Malfoy could ever hope to be.

**Friday**

**10:30 PM**

**(Padma Patil's P.O.V)**

Padma narrowed her eyes in concentration, her wand focused on the ring of flames dancing beneath the black pot. She twisted her wand to the side and the flames rose, just slightly, as the bubbling in the pot intensified. She bit her lip as she mentally reviewed the next stage of instructions. If she didn't do this step just right, the entire dish would be ruined -

Now! As the bubbles began to spill over the top of the pot, Padma flicked her wand in a series of motions, turning the flames off completely. The sugar snap peas were transferred into a colander in the blink of an eye and doused in water. Padma, frowning just slightly, scooped a handful of ice out of her ice box and scattered them on top of the peas.

Finally, she stepped back. The peas were a lovely green color, and they appeared to be crisp and firm. The pasta was _al__dente_and the sauce was simmering in a red saucepan.

She smiled in satisfaction.

Hermione never quite understood Padma's obsession with cooking. She firmly believed that Padma's careful deliberation equated her stressing about the precise measurements of spices and the like. Padma disagreed. She was perfectly able to methodically complete something without worrying about it.

Although, Padma wouldn't call it quite methodical. That implied a sense of calm. When Padma cooked, her body often thrummed with anticipation as she waited for the next step, where she would have to flip an omelet with a steady hand in the few seconds before the cheese melted all over the plate. Flipping it too soon would result in a rubbery texture, but holding it too late left a dreadful mess.

Padma checked her watch. It was 10:30; perfect timing. 'Mione refused to heavy meals after seven, claiming it was bad for the health, but Padma had been raised to eat late and she continued the tradition now. Hogwarts had served dinner from 6:00 to 8:00 most days, with most students trickling in at about seven. Padma had always nibbled her food during these times before eating a bit more from her stash of food at 10.

She scooped the pasta onto a plate, spooned a few of the juiciest looking peas next to that, and adorned the entire thing with a healthy dollop of sauce. She made sure not to drown the other tastes before sprinkling Parmesan cheese over it. Perfect.

Padma had just settled into her dining room and switched on the Muggle telly - Hermione had gotten her hooked on the thing years ago - when her Floo chimed softly.

Assuming it was Hermione, Padma waved her wand absently to let the person in. She kept her wand trained the door, just as a precaution, although when she saw the person walking in she let her hand fall to the side.

"Hey, Parv," Padma said, only slightly uncomfortable. Parvati and Padma had been getting closer lately but they were nowhere close to the old levels of intimacy. Padma had used to know Parvati better than she knew herself, as cliched as the expression was, but that was hardly the case now.

Parvati gave Padma a small smile. "Hey, Pads. Having supper?"

She nodded and only hesitated slightly before offering, "Would you like some?"

To her surprise, Parvati accepted and the next five minutes saw the twins eating pasta quietly.

Finally, Padma spoke. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't I visit my baby sister?" Parvati's sly grin was fleeting.

Padma wrinkled her nose, getting back into the teasing relationship that was so comfortable between them. "Honestly, Parv, you're only older by about half an hour - "

"And I will always have that half hour more of knowledge and experience," Parvati said sweetly. She shrugged one shoulder and turned to the telly, where a dramatic couple appeared to be deciding whether to kiss or slap each other. "What is this that you are watching?"

Padma flushed quietly and murmured something out that vaguely resembled a corny soap opera title.

Parvati started laughing and said, "Aw, baby sis, I'm so proud of you! You refused to read those romance novels in Hogwarts - "

"They're trashy!"

Parvati continued, grinning, "And now you're making up for lost time for watching trashy telly shows!

Padma reluctantly started laughing as well. She didn't particularly find it funny, but her sister was here, and laughing, and really - Padma could use a little de-stress time to herself.

**Saturday**

**12:00 PM**

**(Narcissa Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Narcissa stood outside of her sister's modest home, hesitating.

She really shouldn't be afraid, she knew this. She was dressed impeccably in casual robes, silver ones to match her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant bun, and Vedette had proclaimed her the picture of elegance.

Still, she knew that knocking on the door would change an uneasy truce between the sisters, if "truce" in this situation meant "not talking at all." She hadn't seen her sister in years. What was she supposed to say?

_Narcissa,__you__are__being__ridiculous,_she told herself sternly, and knocked firmly three times.

She heard the pounding of footsteps from the other side of the door and a child calling, "Grandmum, can I open the door?"

The reply, faint but still discernible, made her bit her lip in realization. Andy called, "Wait for me, Teddy!"

_Theodore Lupin._

Narcissa had forgotten about her sister's grandson.

The door was pulled open, and Narcissa had to fight to maintain her self control. Andy looked nearly the same as she remembered - she had those same dark, mischievous eyes, the same dark, wavy hair that was now slightly graying. "Narcissa," she said, and her voice even _sounded_ the same. Merlin, this would be harder than she'd thought. "Come in."

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><p><strong>AN: yeah...the ending petered out a bit. This is unbetaed 'cause I realized I took WAY TOO LONG to hammer this out. I promise promise promise that next chapter will be better. Tell me if you like the other characters or if you yawned your way through this...kthanksbyeloveyouall.**


	12. Chapter 11: Breakfast at Tiffany's

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. There is no excuse! I hope you like this chapter, though.**

**This is unbetaed. **

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday<strong>

**12:30 PM**

**(Andromeda Tonk's P.O.V)**

Her sister looked shell-shocked.

Andromeda couldn't blame her.

When she'd read about her sister's return to England, she'd, as Teddy would say, had a "major freak out." Harry had graciously taken in Teddy for a couple days as Andromeda worked through the confusing mess in her brain. Her sister was back. Her _sister_ was back. Her sister was _back_. No matter how she emphasized that sentence, it didn't change the fact that Narcissa Black-Malfoy had returned.

A few days ago, when Harry had stumbled into her door with a heartbroken expression on his face, she'd learned about the Veela situation. Of course. Andromeda should have expected it. She'd always suspected that Narcissa held the gene like Bella did, but neither sister had spoken to her about it. Narcissa had always been too beautiful, too enchanting, too disinterested in the boys falling over themselves.

Andy had never learned the mates of her sisters, and she didn't know whether she preferred it that way or not. Lucius was obviously not Cissy's mate, but Andy wasn't sure she wanted to know who was. It wasn't worth lingering on the past.

Narcissa straightened her shoulders and smiled at her sister, the two of them standing awkwardly in the foyer, but the smile was plastic and Andy rolled her eyes. Her sister hadn't changed. "It's excellent to see you," Narcissa said, perfectly polite. "How have you been?"

"Cut the shit," Andy sighed, turning her back and walking more into the house. "But, just because you asked so nicely, I've been doing well."

"I'm glad to hear it," Narcissa said. She lingered in the doorway in a manner that would have been awkward for anybody else but, Andy noticed with a bit of annoyance, made Narcissa look perfectly natural. "How is young Theodore?"

"Teddy is doing fine," Andy said, a smile crossing her face at the thought of her grandson. Teddy was a piece of work, all piss and fire and creativity from his mum and reflective thoughtfulness from his daddy. The two of them stood in the middle of the room before Andy rolled her eyes for what had to be at least the third time in the past five minutes and pointed to a chair. "Sit."

Narcissa sat.

Andy sat opposite her. "What did you want to talk about?"

Cissy gave a meaningless smile and said lightly, "Oh, Andy, can't we catch up first? We have much to discuss before we get bogged down by serious topics."

Andy wasn't stupid. Her sister was a master of deflecting and manipulation, one reason why their father had preferred Cissy over Andy. "Stop shitting around," she said bluntly. "Tell me what you wanted to talk about."

Narcissa turned stony in an instant. Oh, how many times had she seen her little sister change moods rapidly as kids? Andromeda wasn't one to consider herself nostalgic, but this visit was bring up all sorts of memories. "As I recall," Narcissa said, "you owled me _first_."

"Oh, let's not play the blame game," Andy said, shaking her head. "As _I _recall, you said that 'we have much to discuss.' Start discussing."

Narcissa bit her lip for a second, and even Andy, who had never been as Slytherin as her sisters, caught the movement for what it was: an expression of insecurity. "What do you know about Hermione Granger?"

So Hermione was Draco's mate, then? Andy thought about the Hermione she knew now and mentally concluded that the pairing would never work out. Maybe five years ago, sure, but not now. "She's not suited for Draco," Andy said immediately. "The bond must be wrong."

"Why is she not suited?" Narcissa asked, her tone worried. "From what I remember, she was a fiery enough girl - "

"From what you remember," interrupted Andromeda. "She's changed in the past couple of years, Narcissa. She left for university for a year or so and when she came back, she was an entirely different person. The Hermione you're thinking of is not the Hermione of today."

Narcissa laced her fingers together and flexed them, her eyes fixed on her long fingers. "Andy," Narcissa said, and although her voice was light and airy, Andy could read her sister and knew the anxiety was buried beneath her pretenses. "Do you honestly think those two will ever find happiness? My son?"

Andy hated to say this, but she had always been the older sister who never lied to Narcissa. She had been honest then and was honest now. "Not together," she said and knew in her heart that it was true.

**Saturday**

**1:45 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He watched the designing wizards maul Malfoy Manor with a detached air.

It was the day before his birthday, and he had done absolutely nothing all morning. Sure, he'd sketched a few things, organized his book collection by cover color and cross-alphabetized it by author's middle name, and counted the number of tiles on his bathroom floor, but he hadn't done anything overly productive.

Granger, the bloody woman, was distracting him. She'd been sending him confusing emotions all morning, and Draco could even swear he heard her voice more than once. About two hours earlier, maybe around noon, he'd felt a spike of anger that was so utterly _Granger_ that it immediately distracted him from his half-hearted floor plans. He had wasted half an hour wondering what - or who - had caused timid little Hermione Granger to come out from her shell, at least momentarily.

Draco found that he didn't quite like the idea of anybody riling up Granger. That was his job. _He_ was the one who could tear down her defenses with a few words, he was the one that forced her to reevaluate herself. It was a bit disheartening to discover that somebody else was doing the same thing.

"Mr. Malfoy," one of the designers said politely, levitating up what looked absurdly like a small volcano. Merlin, what did Daphne plan? "Where should we put this?"

"How should I know?" Draco snapped back, eyeing the small volcano with a healthy amount of trepidation as lava bubbled threateningly inside. "It's your job to take dangerous objects and make them look like decoration."

"You ordered it..." The wizard had the audacity to mumble, but a glare from Draco shut him up. Ducking his head, the wizard mumbled, "I'll go put it in the back garden, shall I?" and beat a hasty retreat.

_That's right_, Draco thought to himself, rolling his eyes. _Run away._

He hated designing wizards. Every time there was a special event, he threw a fuss until Daphne agreed to supervise the band of idiots. Where was Daphne, anyway? Draco quite enjoyed her efforts to worm her way into his good graces. Shouldn't she be here, taking care of everything?

Draco wandered through the gardens, watching the men work. He was sure his mother was holed up somewhere in the Manor, but he hadn't seen her all morning. Had everybody dropped off the face of the Earth? Sure, he was pleased to not have to deal with Daphne and Narcissa in the same morning, but he did not appreciate being ignored.

Sitting down on a bench that was slightly secluded, Draco closed his eyes and sought out Granger. After a moment or so, a picture visualized in his mind. Granger was working on something, scribbling feverishly, but as much as Draco squinted and tried to manipulate the image, he couldn't tell what it was. His first impulse was to go bother her, if only to distract himself, but he held himself back. Maybe she was taking his words to heart and actually trying to accomplish something with her pitiful little life.

Still, he watched her for a while. His thoughts were beginning to wander when, clear as day, he heard her voice in his head.

_Blasted letters_, she grouched to herself. _Why did I ever decide business was a good idea?_

I can't help but agree, Draco thought to himself sardonically, but was surprised a second later when the image of her in his head looked up and glance around herself with suspicion.

_I'm going crazy,_ Granger decided, her voice echoing in his head. _Now Malfoy's even taken over my bloody head._

He stifled a snort but resolved to control his thoughts from then on. It appeared as if the connection was two way, although he doubted Granger could manipulate it as he was learned to do.

Granger resumed scribbling away, her thoughts and emotions a mixture of aggravation and determination. Draco was amused to note how many times he popped up in her inner thoughts, as she ranted against him in a side commentary at the same time as she wrote letters.

He forgot himself for a few minutes as he relaxed, leaning against the bench and slowing his thoughts. He only listened to Granger keep up a torrent of words both mentally and mumbling aloud, marveling that she could be thinking about so many different trains of thought at once.

Then, he heard her think of his birthday party tonight. _I doubt I'm going_, Granger told herself, pausing in writing. _He doesn't want me there, and I most definitely do not want a confrontation to ruin my weekend._

A couple of images flashed through her mind, of Potty and the Weasel and an overall emotion of agitation, before she sighed. _Or maybe I will go. If I avoid him, it likely won't be much of an ordeal._

An ordeal? Oh, Granger. Did she have any idea how many people were clamoring to get into his private party? Sure, she'd been invited last year, if only because he was planning on publicizing the fact that he had especially invited all these war heroes. It was good for business, according to Daphne.

_Especially since Theodore Nott will be there_, was the next thought out of her head, one that caused him to splutter and sit up straight. Theo? How did Theo even _know_ Granger?

Why are you planning on seeing Theo? He rhetorically asked her, but cursed out loud a second later when a pensive look crossed over her face. Had she heard that? Shit, shit, fuck! She had!

_Malfoy?_

He stayed utterly still, praying his thoughts would not betray him.

_Malfoy, I know you're there. I thought I heard you earlier._

He didn't think anything, focusing his mind as his Occlumency lessons taught him. Shit. This was not how he envisioned the link working.

Granger's image dissolved as he broke concentration, but he could still hear her voice as if she were in front of him, shouting. _Malfoy, how dare you listen into my thoughts and then ignore me? I know you're there. Answer me, dammit!_

It was clear he wasn't going to get away with silence, so he did the next best thing. Shut up, Granger, he answered curtly. I'm trying to figure out how to get you out of my head.

_You shut up_, she answered quite immaturely. _You've been spying on me all afternoon, have you? Well –_ she paused and closed her eyes for a second. _You're not the only one that knows a bit about the bond. You're paying me to research it, remember? And while you were organizing your books, I was practicing what I had learned._

He had been spied on? Hypocrisy aside, this enraged Draco. He hated being spied on. It brought back too many memories of having his life, his mind, invaded as he was too helpless to stop it…

Get the hell out of my head, Granger!

He could just picture her smarmy grin, even as he tried to peer through their connection. The hell! When had she learned to control it, anyway?

**Saturday**

**2:15 PM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She smiled to herself in satisfaction.

Actually, she hadn't been spying on him, per say, but she _had_ managed to pluck from his mind a stray image of him organizing his books earlier that day. Despite her stress and the amount of work she had, Hermione had been researching the problem before she went to bed, and she was reasonably certain she had as tight a grasp on the bond as he did.

Serves him right. Today, she had spoken briefly to Theodore Nott when Greengrass had gone to the bathroom, and he had leaned in close, looked at her with intensely serious eyes, and told her to "give Draco hell for me."

"Excuse me?" Hermione had answered.

Theo had given her a smirk and shook his head. "Granger," he'd said in a slightly mocking tone, yet one that she didn't find offensive. "You do realize the power the bond has given you, right?"

She had mumbled an affirmative. Yes, she had power, but Draco – as the Veela – appeared to have _more_.

"It doesn't matter what the books say," Nott had said, displaying a slightly uncanny ability to read her mind. "You have the tools, now use it. Draco's my best friend, but he's thinks he's a peg or two too high, and he needs someone like you to knock him down."

She'd stared at him and stuttered something in reply, but when she got home Hermione had thought over his words and, unaware of the smirk that spread across her face, agreed.

_Malfoy,_ she thought to him, feeling his outrage as if it were her own. _You haven't been researching, have you?_

Excuse you_,_ was his instant reply. I have enough to do without burying my nose in books.

She batted aside the insult. It was easier to feel confident when he wasn't in front of him, smirking at her and looking both delectably attractive and extraordinarily irritating. It didn't hurt that she could feel his emotions and decipher what he was feeling behind that tough mask.

_You do realize that once a connection through the bond is opened, it's difficult to close, right?_

Silence.

Fuck you, Granger, Malfoy mumbled. I'll figure out a way.

Hermione grinned. Finally, it felt like she'd won one.

**Saturday**

**10:30 PM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He smirked and greeted more people, keeping an eye on his watch. When it approached 10:45, the party would have officially begun and he could get a drink, finally. Draco hated talking to these people but it was a necessary evil. Besides, Granger hadn't come yet, even though Daphne had said she would. He felt a terrible indecisiveness lurking in the part of his mind reserved for Granger's mood swings. She'd been, dare he say it, almost _Slytherin_ earlier, as he'd been worked up into quite a panicked rage at the idea that Granger was now privy to whatever thoughts slipped by his mental control.

Theo stepped up next to him, looking around him with an impressed air. "Nice turn out, Drake. Reckon it's more than last year?"

He shrugged casually, his eyes traveling over the decorations and the throngs of people inhibiting Malfoy Manor. "Most likely. Have you seen Daphne?" All he could think about was Granger being _pleased_ that Theo was going to be at his party. It was his party, dammit!

"Not since 10, when Blaise arrived," Theo said, pulling a face momentarily before his face shifted into nonchalance.

Draco caught his momentary lapse, however. "Is she really still fawning over Zabini?" Draco asked innocently, giving Theo an opening to rant. When could he mention that he knew that Theo'd met Granger and didn't tell him about it?

Theo did not disappoint. He drew in a long breath, alerting Draco that his friend was preparing to speak, and began in an irritated tone. Draco flicked his wand casually to cast a few privacy cells as a precaution, although he was sure his guests were too busy taking advantage of the bar to notice a conversation.

Then again, with Slytherins, nobody ever knew.

"I don't understand the appeal," said Theo, frowning. "I mean, he was a prat in Hogwarts and he hasn't exactly changed."

"I agree," Draco said, searching around mentally. Where was Granger?

_This stupid shoes Ginny gave me don't fit my feet,_ Granger was grumbling, _Who cares if they match? Nobody's going to be looking at my feet!_

He stifled a laugh again and listened to Theo.

"I mean," he was continuing, noticing that Draco wasn't listening but not caring. "I was with her all day and she barely even mentioned Zabini!"

"Possibly because you were with Granger all day," Draco drawled, and Theo stopped talking immediately.

Draco watched his friend as his facial expression changed rapidly, smoothing out before he could get a decent read on Theo. Was that amusement he saw? Why was Theo amused? If anything, he should be worried that Draco found out he was lying to him! "That may have had something to do with it," Theo said, shrugging casually. "Although Daph and Granger really hit it off. Don't girls always ask each other about their boyfriends first?"

"Theo!" Draco exclaimed angrily. "This is not a joke. Why did you see Granger?"

His friend shrugged again. "Daph wanted to," he commented airily, as if these events happened daily. "I was curious about her."

Draco grumbled to himself and walked away rudely, ignoring Theo's snicker. Why did his friends insist on torturing him? First Daph was befriending Granger and neglecting her kiss-up duties, then Granger managed to one-up him, and now Theo was being utterly unrepentant about lying to him and even finding it funny -

He was tempted to ring up his father in the deepest depths of hell and ask him if he was ice-skating because the Earth had sure as shit tipped on its side.

"

**Sunday**

**12:10 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

The party was bigger than last year, the entire Manor packed with society's finest young adults. People downed shot after shot and she saw a literal waterfall of money exchange hands. She was arriving quite late, unfashionably late, but she had to give herself three mental pep talks (ones she desperately hoped Malfoy didn't hear) before working up the courage to come.

It was one thing to be sassy and in control when she did not have to actually face Malfoy, and it was quite another to maintain that air of superiority when on his turf, at his birthday party, in front of him.

Which was why, when she saw the glint of blond hair threading its way towards her, she panicked and fled.

"Calm down, Hermione," she muttered to herself, figuring the risk of getting overheard by a random party guest was preferable to Malfoy spying in her head. "Pull it together."

"I agree," a dry voice commented, and Hermione stifled a scream when she looked up to see Theodore Nott looking at her. "Considering the fact that I know Draco was searching for you, either you had a confrontation where he came out on top, or you fled before said confrontation could occur because you were afraid you wouldn't win."

Oh, Slytherins with their fluid, formal speech. She straightened her back and snapped back, "Perhaps I, out of respect, decided to avoid said confrontation as to not ruin his party."

Nott snorted and began walking away. Affronted, she followed after him. Where did he think he was going? She was taken aback when, after they were a bit of a distance from the main crowd of the party, he turned to face her. "Granger, Draco would like nothing more for you to distract him from his party." She was pondering that until he answered, a smirk sliding over his face, "After all, since he can't get laid anymore, parties aren't any fun."

"Men!" Hermione huffed, throwing up her hands and turning to walk away.

He caught her wrist. "I'm just kidding, Granger. Save your fire for Draco. I actually have a proposition for you."

She raised her eyebrows.

"As you know," he said self-importantly, "I am the Head of Public Relations at _Sleeping Dragon_, as well as the unofficial co-CEO since Draco needs my help more than he'd care to admit."

This startled a laugh out of Hermione. "Is there a point to this?"

"Patience," Nott said gravely before shooting her a teasing smile. "The point is, I'm very experienced and a bit bored at _Dragon_ because I actually have free time. See the problem?"

"Not at all," Hermione said, who rather liked her free time.

He waved his hand to dismiss her comment. "I know you need a bit of help, and since Daph has deemed you approved, I was wondering if you wanted help? I don't come cheap, you know. You'll have to pay me in copious amounts of chocolate."

She laughed again, reeling that Greengrass had apparently 'deemed her approved.' Should she accept? If Hermione was being honest, she knew she was in over her head, but why would she accept Greengrass and Nott's help if she wouldn't accept it from Harry and Padma and the Weasleys?

Hermione wasn't entirely sure why she opened her mouth and said, "Only if you agree to try some Muggle chocolate too."

Nott laughed. "Making conditions, are we?" He shook his head. "Then I'll have to make some of my own. You have to call me by by first name, Hermione."

"Theodore." She tested it out on her tongue.

"_Theo_," he corrected her.

She found that it wasn't as strange as she thought, calling an old school enemy by his first name. "Theo," she agreed.

**Sunday**

**1:30 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

Why the fuck was she and Theo talking, again?

He tried to maneuver closer to her, but he kept getting cut off by his friends and acquaintances. When that did not work, Draco tried to close his eyes and seek her out, but the music was too loud for him to concentrate.

He resorted to glowering in their direction as she smiled and laughed at him, and he grinned back at her. Theo had met her all of one time, and already they were best buddies. Why Theo? He was socially awkward and -

Well, Draco conceded that point. Theo wasn't socially awkward anymore, hence his position in _Dragon_. He could be a right manipulative bastard if he wanted to, and then turn around and charm the pants right off the next person he met. Draco supposed Theo's charm was fair, as he hadn't had an ounce of social sense in school.

There! She was leaving, after giving him one last smile. He casually threaded his way through the crowd, managing to bump into her as if he hadn't seen her at all.

"Merlin, Granger," he said, jumping back. "Watch where you are going."

To his surprise, she didn't respond with a snappy retort. Instead, she shrugged and said, "Sorry, Malfoy, I'll get out of your way."

No, dammit! This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She smiled and talked to Theo but he didn't even get an angry remark? "Finally," he drawled, trying to simultaneously piss her off and read her mind. "You've learned your place."

_And where would that be?_ Her voice echoed in his head as she gave him the slightest smile and walked quickly away. Oh, so she didn't want to talk to him in person but she'd talk to him over the link?

Following my orders_,_ he responded snobbishly, gratified to feel a pulse of Granger's irritation lace through him.

_Malfoy, I don't follow anybody's orders_, Granger thought to him. He saw her sit down at the bar and order a drink, apparently not about to speak to anybody else. Why was she so anti-social?

Some random person came up to him and greeted Draco as if they were best friends. "Dray!" The woman, who looked entirely too scruffy to be any friend of Draco, slurred. "It's been so long!"

"Who the hell are you?" Draco snapped, feeling Granger laughing at him. This new bond was unsettling, and Draco resolved to learn how to control it as soon as possible.

The woman gave him what appeared to be a seductive smile, slithering up his body and whispering wetly in his ear, "Don't tell me you've forgotten me, Dray," she purred, but the stench of alcohol ruined any effect she might have had. "We spent a great couple o'days together in Seville."

_An old flame, Malfoy? She seems delightful_.

Where had this side of Granger suddenly emerged from? He glanced over at her and caught her staring. When they made eye contact, she raised her glance and downed it. Unbidden, stay emotions flitted through him from Granger, only fragments and random words - _drunk_, she though decisively and ordered another drink, her feelings a mash of determination and agitation. What was she planning?

At least I had old flames, he thought acidly back at her, untangling the Seville girl from his body. You probably brushed the beaver with your books.

Confused, _Brushed the beaver?_

He hid a smirk as he moved away from the drunk girl. I figured an euphemism you could relate to would work best, beaver teeth. Don't tell me you're so prude you've never wanked off.

Feeling her blush was one of the strangest experiences Draco had ever felt. It was fiery and quick, drenching his body in her embarrassment before she recovered. _Shut up, Malfoy._

He approached the bar where she was sitting and sat two seats down from her, far enough away that they weren't associated but close enough to make her nervous. _Don't deny you are a prude, Granger._

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Malfoy?" The bartender asked politely.

He ordered a whiskey on the rocks and, when it came, downed it easily and asked for another.

_I am not a prude,_ Granger protested. His ability to sense her emotions coupled with the fact that Granger's face an open book let him know quite clearly that she was feeling both indignant and uncomfortable talking about this with him.

Draco let the whiskey sit in his mouth as, unbidden, a flash of fucking Granger ran through his mind. Mmm, he supposed that when she tried, she could shed her prudish exterior.

_Malfoy!_

Startled, Draco looked over to where Hermione was beet red and squirming in her seat. Oh. Did she hear/see that?

Draco grinned wickedly. This was perfect.

**Sunday**

**3:30 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She supposed she was drunk.

It wasn't her fault, honestly. It was that bloody Malfoy's fault. Hermione had liked their mental communication at first - until Malfoy got bored and decided to torment her.

He had done it on accident first. Hermione had just been taking a sip of her drink when a image ran through her mouth, of that _night_, and the wave of lust that hit her had stayed with her all night. Once Malfoy figured out he could send her dirty images, he didn't stop. She would be talking to somebody when _bam_, she'd be picturing him backing her into a wall, trailing hot kisses down her collarbone, and she'd start stammering and blushing while the other person looked on with confusion.

Damn him. Hermione supposed she could send him something back, but that would be just fueling the fire. The best thing to do was to practice blocking it and monitor her thoughts .

Hermione had been there for a couple hours, and she was getting pretty tired. She had wandered into the Manor through a back door a few minutes earlier, trying to find the bathroom, and had managed to get lost in the upstairs level. The quiet was deafening after the clamour of outside, but she quite liked it.

Hermione, who didn't really have to go to the bathroom anymore, opened a random door and peered in, intending to close it immediately.

Instead, she found herself looking at a positively beautiful study that could only be Malfoy's. The study was done in muted colors of brown and red, a nearly Gryffindor combination that would have shocked Hermione if she was in the mood to notice it. There were shelves and shelves of books, a wide desk, a large window overlooking the gardens. It was open and airy but not empty, and as she sat in his leather chair, she decided she quite liked it.

"Snooping around in my house, Granger?"

Of course he followed her. Why was she not surprised? "Is this your study?"

Why do you sound so surprised? His mental question came out of nowhere, even as he verbally answered, "Of course it is, Granger."

"I like it," she said honestly.

He smirked at her. "You're drunk."

"So are you."

"Fair is fair, I suppose," he said, perching himself on his desk. "I'm handy with those _Soberis_ charms, though."

She shook her head and closed her eyes, liking the buzz the alcohol gave her. "You're likely to fuck it up," she mumbled, before mentally regretting it. _Where is my filter?_

I like it when you lose your filter, came his amused reply. "Language, Granger," he chided her, and she wrinkled her nose as she tried to follow both conversations.

_Shut up, Malfoy_, she responded to both his mental and verbal comment. She yawned, relaxing in his chair. "I think I'm going to sleep here," she announced.

He laughed, and she saw the image he had of her, all sleepy and relaxed. You should get drunk more often, Granger, it suits you.

She cracked open an eye. "I'm not drunk," she told his disbelieving stare. After a beat, she amended it: "Yet."

"Want to get drunk?" Malfoy offered, murmuring an incantation under his breath. A few bottles of Firewhiskey floated up.

Hermione briefly considered the ramifications of getting utterly smashed with Malfoy alone in his study, before shrugging and grabbing a bottle. Oh, she was exhausted, and she could read his mind. What could go wrong? If he was planning to abduct her and lock her in his basement, she'd see it happening before he could tie her up.

"Adventurous, Granger," he snickered, popping the top off of his and hers with another spell. He touched his bottle to hers. "I like it."

A few gulps later, she was feeling a buzz. Cocking her head to the side, she stared at him, brow wrinkled. "Malfoy," she said suddenly, but fell silent. _Why me?_

"Why what?" Malfoy answered out loud. He had long since slipped into a couch he'd conjured up, kicking off his shoes and leaning back. He looked utterly relaxed, and the emotions emanating from him were calm, for once.

"Why am I your mate?"

Malfoy took a swig and gave her a small shrug. "You know, Granger," he said, his voice barely slurring. "I've wondered about that quite a bit. Why you? We have absolutely nothing in common. I mean, we're both intelligent, but I'm also proactive, resourceful, innovative - "

"Oh, shut your mouth, Malfoy," Hermione replied without heat, her lips turning up. She knew he was just teasing her. This bond was bloody useful. "Answer me seriously."

**Sunday**

**4:15 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He closed his eyes as he considered the question. "I don't know, Granger," he mumbled, fighting a yawn. He was bloody exhausted, and the alcohol wasn't helping.

She sighed, and he felt her confusion acutely. "I've been thinking about our school years a lot," she admitted, "And I don't see anything, no hint that we ever would end up...well, like this."

Even without opening his eyes he knew she was gesturing to their situation, drinking alone in his study as a party raged outside, inexplicably thrown into each other's company without any other option. "Theo thinks it makes sense," he replied, after a beat. "Something about how you always could rile me up back in school."

He felt her amusement as if it were his own, and it was a rather odd experience. He cracked open an eye to see her suddenly grinning. "I riled you up in school?"

"What, are you crazy, Granger?" Draco asked, closing his eyes and flashing back to their school days. He felt her presence in his mind and he remembered the first time he'd seen her, all bushy hair and large teeth and attitude, storming the compartment to inquire bossily about a toad and snapping back when he'd told her rudely to leave. "You always riled me up."

He felt a weight next to him on the couch, and he opened his eyes in surprise to see her sitting next to him. She was still smiling, but it was wistful, now. Curious to see what she was thinking, he shut his eyes again.

She was remembering when she'd slapped him. They watched the memory, and he winced as the crack of her hand rang out. "That bloody scared me, you know," he said out loud, the connection breaking. He opened his eyes. "No girl had ever decked me before."

She laughed at him, and in his slightly inebriated state he rather enjoyed the sound. "I always thought Harry and Ron riled you up," she said.

As if he would let the two idiots irritate him like that. "That's where you're wrong," he mumbled, leaning his head back. "I hated Potter and the Redheaded idiot, still do, but I never hated you." As he said it, Draco realized it was true, and wasn't that odd? He blamed the alcohol.

"Why, Malfoy, that's almost a declaration of love," she said, giggling, and he nudged her shoulder with his. _Shut up,_ he sent her in his mind, not wanting to open his mouth any more.

_You seem exhausted,_ she observed in her usual blunt manner. _It's your birthday. Why aren't you outside?_

Because I've not gotten any sleep the past couple of days, he answered her first comment. And I know it's my birthday, but I don't want to talk to the hoards of drunk idiots out there.

_So you chose to talk to one drunk idiot who riles you up?_

He peered at her, noticing how she blushed slightly and glanced away. What was she implying? Was she...fishing for compliments? Speaking aloud this time, he asked, "Granger, why are you obsessing on the fact that you riled me up?"

She gave him a shy smile. "I don't know," she said honestly, the alcohol most likely loosening her tongue. "Maybe it's because I rather like the idea that I riled you up when we were little."

"Still do," was out of his mouth before he could help it. Shit. He winced, waiting for her angry reaction, but she only grinned and leaned closer to him.

"I like that I rile you up," she whispered, and before he could react she was kissing him.

What?

**Sunday**

**4:29 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She didn't know why she kissed him.

Okay, maybe she did. Maybe it was because he looked so exhausted and vulnerable, laying back on the couch, eyes slipping shut. Maybe it was because she felt special at the idea of being the one who was responsible for _riling him up_. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was because they were having an honest, peaceful conversation and he was looking absolutely delicious. Maybe it was because she was acting on impulse. Hermione wasn't one hundred percent sure, but the fact of the matter was, her lips were on his, and she could taste him and alcohol swirling together. Hermione could even feel his lust and desire mingle with confusion as his lips began to move, and his emotions mixed with hers.

It was too confusing for her in that quiet Sunday morning at 4:30 in the morning, and Hermione did something very unusual: she shut down her brain and opened her mouth.

Granger, what are we doing? The thought floated through her mind as they shifted so that she was practically on his lap.

_Giving in to the bond?_ She suggested, threading her hands through his head. She would regret this in the morning, she knew it, but right now she couldn't think straight - and honestly, didn't want to.

He pulled back and smirked softly at her as if he knew what she was thinking. He probably did. Hermione knew that if she made the effort to peek into his mind, she could probably catch a few stray thoughts. "Let's not mention this tomorrow."

"Agreed," she said breathlessly and kissed him again.

His hands were sliding down her back and cupping her bum and she arched her back, pressing herself against him. She was acting ridiculously, maybe like a slut, but she willed herself to forget that - if only for now.

**Sunday**

**4:39 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)**

He heard her call herself a slut before he lost the connection. He didn't know why Granger had kissed him, but he didn't mind one bit. You're the opposite of slut, you prude, he thought to her, a consolation wrapped in an insult. Not his finest work, but she was practically grinding against him and his hands were full of her arse, so he supposed it was passable.

She began kissing down his jaw. _I am not a prude!_

And damn, the way her mouth moved, he could believe her claims that she wasn't prudish. However, it was _Granger_, the Frigid Bitch. She was the definition of prude.

He concentrated on Granger, pulling her so that her lips met his again. He sliding his hand under her skirt, hoping for a chance to tap her, again, but she only moaned and shook her head. _No_, she thought firmly. _I'm not going to sleep with you._

Well, he'd take what he could get. Draco kissed her harder and began playing with the buttons on her shirt. Fuck, was she wearing lace?

**Sunday**

**10:10 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She awoke the next morning curled on a couch, pressed into Draco Malfoy and smelling the remnants of his cologne and alcohol and leather, feeling content and a little hung-over.

She yawned and buried deeper into Malfoy until the realization that she was _cuddling_ with _Malfoy_ made her flinch violently.

She rolled off the couch so violently that she fell to the floor with a crash. She stifled her scream and began crawling away as fast as possible. Shit. Fuck. Why - _Merlin, Hermione!_ She cried to herself angrily. _One civil conversation with the git and you're practically all over him. _

Wand. First, wand. Where was her wand? Hermione bit her lip as she searched for it. Malfoy groaned from the couch, and she froze guiltily, creeping into his mind with whatever tact she could summon.

She could only make out blurry images and color, vivid, bright color. Was he dreaming? The scientific mind considered the fact that she was seeing his _dreams_, while the practical part of her told her to hurry up and get the hell out.

She spotted the tip of her wand sticking out from under his desk and crouched down, feeling blindly under the furniture. As her fingers curled over it, Malfoy spoke.

"Not gonna lie, Granger," he said, his voice slurred with sleep and the after-effects of last night's drinking, "I like that position on you."

She blushed furiously and yanked her wand out, getting up in a move that almost made her bang her head against his desk. "Shut up."

She turned to face him, and was struck by the image of Malfoy lounging in last night's clothes, blinking sleepily as sun streamed through the window. it was a stark contrast to the hard, stony Malfoy she usually saw.

And then he opened his mouth again. "Sneaking away? Didn't take you for the Walk of Shame type, Granger."

She ignored his comments and said, "Malfoy, last night was a - "

"Stop," he said, cutting her off rudely. "Don't do the cliché 'Last night was a mistake' thing. I despise living a cliché."

"What do you suggest, then?" She snapped back.

Lazily, "Last night was the first time we actually got along, Granger, don't ruin it."

Hermione shook her head, gathering her things. "We only got along because of the copious amounts of alcohol consumed."

Malfoy shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "Wars have been forged and ended over copious amounts of alcohol, Granger. It's a veritable force. Shall we get breakfast?"

"Excuse me?" Did he just offer...to get her _breakfast_?

He shot her a lazy smirk. "I'm hungry," he said, "and you look like the type of person who has nothing in her organized ice box."

What? Hermione glared at him. "How do you know what is in my ice box?"

**Sunday**

**10:30 AM**

**(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V.)**

Oops.

"It was a guess," he covered, before pointing at himself. "Draco Malfoy, mind-reader, remember?"

Granger looked at him, disgruntled, and he pasted an innocent smile on his face. He wasn't sure why he was inviting Granger to breakfast. Maybe it was by the same impulse that drove her to attack him last night. He wasn't complaining.

He could tell she was over-analyzing his gesture, and decided to speak up. "Granger, stop it. I'm not asking you to get married. All I want is some expensively prepared breakfast, and you have to admit, we have a lot to talk about."

"Fine," she spit out. Damn. She was not a morning person. "Let me go home and change first."

Because he was Draco Malfoy, he couldn't help but hive her a lavish grin and say, "But Granger, the just-been-ravished look is wonderful on you. Those hickeys really accentuate your collarbone."

Her hand shot up to her neck and he smiled. Point for him. To be honest, he liked seeing prissy little Granger with love bites from his mouth trailing down her neck. Granger could be passably attractive if she got a hair cut, wore some makeup, and walked around with a morning-after air.

_I do not need a makeover,_ Granger thought to him snippily.

Oops. He forgot this mind-reading thing was a two way street.

"Sorry, but it's the truth," he said apologetically. "Weren't you going to get ready? I'm not going to wait all day, you know."

He was treated to Hermione Granger's best sneer - a lacking effort - before she disapparated.

As soon as he left, he grabbed some parchment from his desk and scribbled a terse note. **Theo**, he wrote, **Going out to breakfast with G. **He folded it up into a paper dragon and, with a spell, made it disappear. Hopefully he would receive it.

Seconds later, Theodore Nott appeared in his study. Even before he landed, he was talking. "What the hell happened last night, Draco? Don't fuck this up."

"Firstly, I didn't sleep with her, and secondly, when did you become a fan of Hermione Granger?" Draco asked, nonplussed. Was the world going crazy?

Theo rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot, Draco. Hermione's not that bad."

"Does she call you Theo?" Draco didn't understand it. Granger was a weak, sad, prissy girl around him and apparently somebody worthy of his friends' respect around them.

"As of last night, yes. Let's talk about last night, Draco. What happened?"

Draco exhaled. "We talked. We got drunk. We made out and fell asleep on my couch." He saw Theo's mouth opening and quickly continued, "Now, tell me why you like Granger."

Theo surveyed him with shrewd eyes. Draco hated feeling surveyed like this, at a moment when he'd just woken up and his defenses were down, but he stared back defiantly. He must have passed Theo's little test because his friend began talking. "Shit happened to her, alright? I don't know what it is, but you can tell. She's absolutely miserable."

"Who the fuck cares? I was miserable for at least twenty years of my life, Theo! I don't go around with a 'poor-me' attitude like she does!"

Theo shook his head. "Of course you don't," he countered. "You're a Malfoy. You would never show weakness."

Draco groaned and turned away, stripping off his shirt. He didn't care that Theo was there; they lived in the same dorm for seven years and the same house for three years after that. He had a closet in his study with work clothes so that he could change at any time, and he picked out a shirt and started rifling through his pants. "Theo, I don't understand," he said honestly. "Maybe the Granger you see is not the Granger I see, but - "

"Of course it's not," Theo huffed, walking over to stand next to him. "Pick the blue shirt, it's better on you. And anyway, you've had the upper hand in that relationship since it started. In school, we both know that Granger was in charge, but now, she doesn't stand a chance."

"Is that wrong?" Draco asked, pulling the shirt over his head. "Payback."

"She can't deal with not having the upper hand," Theo said, "And so obviously it escalates. The Granger you see is the Granger of her insecurities."

Draco willed the bags under his eyes from the drinking to disappear, and they did. This talent was bloody useful. "When did you become her psychiatrist?"

Theo gave him a look, and Draco relented. Theo had always been scarily good at reading people. "Just tone down the bastard, okay? Give her some power."

Draco dismissed his friend's advice, but inside he was thinking about it. On one hand, he could _help_ Granger. He knew what Theo was saying was true. It was obvious in the way she interacted with him. Draco was a master of manipulation, and he knew that he could restore Granger to what she used to be.

On the other hand, it meant helping Granger.

"And think," Theo said, a smirk sliding over his face, "Imagine Weasley and Potter's expressions if Hermione became herself with your help."

_True, true._

This would require further thinking.

**Sunday**

**11:00 AM**

**(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)**

She landed in her bedroom and immediately raced to her closet.

Hermione wasn't exactly one to fill her closet with clothes for every occasion. That was Ginny's style. Hermione most likely had five books for every article of clothing she owned, and as she rifled past jeans and sweaters, she wished that wasn't the case.

Hermione was faced with a problem that all woman had been facing since the beginning of pre-arranged opposite sex meetings, a problem even her massive brain could not immediately solve:

"What the hell do I wear?"

She shimmied into a red shirt and grabbed a scarf, wrapping it around her neck to hide the numerous hickeys present. A glance in the mirror told her that she looked entirely too Gryffindor, and so she pulled her shirt back over her head. Okay. She could do this.

Hermione didn't want to wear red, but she wasn't about to wear green either. Maybe blue? Blue was a nice, neutral color, barring the fact that it was a Ravenclaw color. That took out yellow as well. Damnit. Why did her school colors have to cover the major color groups?

She rifled through her closet until she found a short purple dress that Ginny had given her for her birthday last year. She pulled it on over grey leggings and surveyed herself in the mirror critically -

I like that one, Granger. 

Hermione shrieked. _Get out of my head!_ That pervert! _Have you been watching me change?_

She could feel his smirk spreading over her body. _No, _he said teasingly, _I closed my eyes. Now come on, Granger, grab some shoes and let's go. _

_We're not done talking about this_, she warned, slipping her feet into boots and tying up her hair into a ponytail. She grabbed her purse and was about to disapparate when she paused. _Where do I go?_

Come here, he told her, and she disapparated to reappear in his office.

In the time she had been gone, all traces of their late night rendezvous had disappeared. The couch's pillows were straightened and neat, the carpet cleaned of traces of alcohol, the glasses and Firewhiskey bottles secreted away. Malfoy, damn him, looked like he had taken a long, luxurious shower and changed into fresh clothes. Hermione felt dirty in comparison.

"You look surprisingly good," he told her snarkily.

Was that a compliment? Hermione looked at him oddly and said hesitantly, "Thanks, I guess. You look surprisingly good yourself."

He preened and smoothed back his hair. "Naturally," he said cockily. His eyes took her in and he looked at her quizzically. "Why do you look so scared, Granger? I'm not going to abduct you - too much bad publicity, you see."

"Of course," she said sarcastically. She did _not_ look scared. "Heaven forbid you do anything to garner bad publicity."

He shrugged and waved his hand at the newspaper folded neatly on his desk. "The press play a dangerous game," he said airily. "You have to be on top."

She rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "So, where are we going? You said you wanted an expensive breakfast, so I'm expecting something along _Breakfast at Tiffany's_."

He looked at her, brow cocked. "Tiffany's? I've never heard of it."

After years of living in the wizarding world, she still let Muggle references slip through. "Never mind."

"No, tell me," he insisted. "Where is Tiffany's?"

"Nowhere you'll ever go," she said, smiling to herself. He looked at her curiously but didn't press the thought. "Malfoy, where are we going?"

He smiled mysteriously. "Nowhere you'll be recognized, don't worry," he told her. "I don't eat at small Muggle cafés."

_Malfoy..._ she frowned at him, tired of his games.

Granger... Malfoy mocked her before he offered his arm. She looked at it as if it were a dangerous snake. "I'm not going to hurt you, Granger," he said tiredly. "You're ruining my appetite."

She turned up her nose at that and took his arm. _If you take me somewhere horrible, you're dead_, she warned.

"Duly noted," he replied with a dry smile before disapparating them away.


End file.
